Cross the Seven Seas for You
by grymka
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is a young and ambitious pirate-privateer until he finds and raises Alfred and Matthew, two brothers, lost in the middle of nowhere in a boat. Following an attack, they get separated, and Alfred soon finds out his life is in huge jeopardy.
1. Chapter 1: At the Beginning

**Cross the Seven Seas For You**

Chapter I: At the Beginning…

_1579, county of Berkshire…_

John Kirkland marched hastily into the main room of the State Apartments in the Windsor Castle. At the complete end of the room, sitting in all her dignity on a throne, was Queen Elisabeth I. She looked at him, deep in thoughts, with a worried face. She had summoned Kirkland, one of her protected privateers, in order to ask him a favor. A favor that would place the whole country of England in jeopardy if he'd fail. As the blonde man took off his large hat and knelt down in front of her, awaiting his mission, the queen sighed heavily.

-My dear Captain Kirkland, you do know the situation of our homeland, don't you?

-How can I not know, your Majesty? That bloody Russian git invaded the towns near river Thames with his ships filled with drunkards!

-You hit the spot, Captain. It is quite surprising, considering the fact that their Tsar, Ivan the Fourth, is not an enemy. He is deeply interested in keeping special trading rights with our kingdom, making all these attacks awkward. It seems Braginski rebelled against him.

She inhaled before continuing her small speech.

-I want you, Captain John Kirkland, to get to where he is with your army and make him turn around and go back to where he and his comrades belong.

-Pardon me for interrupting, your Highness, but it seems the river's navigation has been closed.

-I let it reopen this one time. If it meant to save England, than it has been done.

Captain Kirkland let out a silent sigh of relief.

-Is that all, your Highness?

-Yes, that is all. But remember; that Russian man you have mentioned, Misha Braginski, is very dangerous. I have heard almost all of his captives are never seen again, due to his heart-aching tortures and murders. You are our last hope, Kirkland. Francis Drake is out at sea, so if you ever get captured, we are doomed.

The captain swallowed his saliva. He too had heard of Braginski's murders and awful ways of treating his captives. John had a friend who fought against him, got taken and, just like the queen said, was never seen again. The mass killer also had a miniaturized version of him, his 15 year old son, Ivan. He was as terrifying as his father, and rumor had it he was the one that killed part of the captives in horrible ways. A nasty chill ran down his spine.

-Yes, I shall keep that in mind. And I know the country's fate rests in me, and I will not fail.

Elisabeth looked at him, proud of having such a man in her country.

-That's the spirit, lad. Now go, and make sure they won't ever come back.

John stood up, placed his hat back on his head and walked out of the room. His coach was waiting outside. He climbed in. Daniel Porter, one of his close friends, stared at him worryingly. The captain looked back, smiling. His head popped out through the window as he yelled to the driver in a determined and amused tone.

-To London, Grayson! We have a whole horde of Russians to beat!

_A few days later, London, at the port of river Thames…_

Captain Kirkland looked at his whole army waiting for his speech from a small wooden stand. The atmosphere was quite heavy, but a certain pride and desire to fight made it lighter as it crept deeper into the hearts of all the Englishmen. A cool breeze flew through John's blonde hair as his emerald green eyes met everyone else's. In the background, twelve heavily armed ships floated proudly, ready for battle. The ambitious captain looked towards his left at his son. He was the exact replica of him, only younger. The same messy blonde hair, thick yet trimmed eyebrows and incredible green eyes. If he were taller, the townspeople would've sworn they had seen Captain Kirkland in normal, farm boy clothes. He looked back at his father with slight fear in his eyes, but tried to smile. Finally, John spoke up.

-My dear men, the rebellious to its own government enemy attacked us again, taking possession of London (if not more) as its main goal. We all heard of Braginski's exploits from the extremely lucky captives that managed to escape his grasp, and there weren't many of them that did so. And let's remember that that drunken git is both England's enemy and Russia's rebel. I am positive he has dark intentions for us, and he's powerful and crazy enough to not get influenced by the tsar's rules. Therefore, let us pray God to help us win this battle. For the victory of England!

"For the victory of England!" confirmed the army, their cry echoing through the air. As they were cheering, John beckoned his son. The youngster immediately walked over, a bit stiffly, looked shyly into his father's eyes, glanced quickly at the ships and the army and finally back at him. Captain Kirkland smiled, knelt down and placed his hand on his son's right shoulder.

-Arthur, I will be leaving soon, and I need to ask you a favor.

-What is it you want from me, Father?

-Please take care of your older and younger brothers. Terence lives in Ireland right now, and I really do know you don't get along too well with the rest, but try to be nice. I am counting on you.

-But Father, they hate me! They beat me with sticks and kick me; they even stone me with small rocks!

-They don't hate you; they just… have difficulty expressing their feelings the right way.

John flinched a little, because he really needed a good reason to explain his sons' bad and sometimes violent behavior towards Arthur.

-Really?

-Yes. You are soon going to become a handsome young man, and you need to know how to be responsible. Please do that while I'll be in battle. It won't be long, only a few days or weeks. Nevertheless, care for your little brother Peter, and always act strong even if your brothers are being troublesome. Will you do that for me?

Arthur looked at him for a while, uncertain, but finally nodded. His father got up and ran his hand playfully through the boy's messy, spiky hair and bent down to hug him and kiss him on both cheeks. He turned to his men and yelled out at the top of his lungs:

-TO BATTLE!

-TO BATTLE! replied the army, quickly filling the ships and, after an hour, the navy float swam up the river, the captain's in the lead, with Arthur standing on the port, alone, suddenly hit by a wave of sadness and early nostalgia.

The black canon ball roared out of the canon, almost striking one of the English ships. Captain Kirkland ordered his men to fire, and blocked his ears as they did so. They had been battling for over two days, and so far they sunk three Russian ships out of the thirteen. Meanwhile, the enemy sent two to the bottom of the North Sea, making the number of ships equal. John ducked behind the mast, aimed and shot four Russians on the ship a few feet from theirs. He rapidly blew the smoke away from the opening of his handgun and commanded his men to fire another canon. After blocking his ears for the hundredth time, he evaluated the battleground with all the consciousness he still had after two sleepless days filled with fear of being shot out of the blue or blown fifty feet into the air at any moment. In order to stop the invasion, he had to kill a certain person; and that person was no one else than Misha Braginski. The heartless Russian captain was in the biggest ship, which was a hundred feet from Kirkland's and protected by the rest of the enemy ships. If only he could get there _incognito_ and finish him off… Considering the battle, it was impossible, men were shot here and there. Suddenly, John threw himself on the hard wooden floor and avoided a bullet just in time. But at that moment, an idea appeared in his mind. He would be playing a dangerous game with Death, but it was the only way. Swallowing his saliva that gathered in his mouth because of his intense fear, he crawled towards the back of the ship, stood up, made sure he was well seen, waited a few seconds that seemed to have the length of full hours, grabbed himself by the chest near the heart when he heard a gunshot, demonstrated a face of extreme pain, wobbled a bit and (somewhat "accidentally") threw himself off the deck and fell straight into the cold water. He winced in (this time real) pain but smiled to himself. The first part of his plan worked, now was the time for the second part. He took the deepest breath of his life and disappeared in the slightly murky water. He could hear muffled canon and gun shots, nearly inaudible screams and splashes of dead corpses falling in the sea. John began swimming, feeling cold in every inch of his body, his breath running short surprisingly quickly. He saw the submerged parts of his and the Russians' ships and, in order to breathe, he crept up behind one of them and surfaced. He tried breathing quietly, which was a hard thing to do. His heart was beating like a drum, pumping his blood so fast John felt sick. He was a few ships away from his goal, and all he had to do was to swim behind each one of them to rest and make sure not to be seen. As he crossed this way all the ships, he finally found himself behind the one he was looking for. Catching his breath heavily, he saw, to his amazement, a rope dangling from the deck. He pulled it, trying to see if it was attached and started heaving himself up. When he got to the top, he looked around and saw absolutely no one on deck. He climbed on board, took out his sword and walked quietly towards the door that led according to him to the captain's headquarters. He turned the golden doorknob and, as silently as he could, descended the stairs. Every time he stepped downwards, he could hear the beat of his heart in his ears, and he felt a huge knot in his stomach. What if Braginski was hiding, waiting for a chance to slice him with his saber? What if, as soon as he'd step on the floor, his own men would accidentally blow this ship up? His head filled with these questions, he was two steps away from the final door separating him from Braginski. He looked through the keyhole, breathing as quietly as it was possible for him, nearly choking, and saw nothing. Finally, he broke the door down after kicking it violently once and leaped towards the middle of the room. He turned around and grinned.

-So here you are, Misha…

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2: The Duel

**Note: I do not own Hetalia, England, Russia, Arthur Kirkland or Ivan Braginski. They belong to Himaruya Hidekaz. **

**Notes from previous chapter:**

**John Kirkland is a character I made to play Arthur's father. In the story, he's a pirate-privateer, and a friend of the queen (IN THE STORY).**

**Queen Elisabeth I spent a lot of time in the Windsor Castle, place where the story begins.**

**Sir Francis Drake was one of the first English navigators to circumnavigate the world, from 1577 to 1580.**

**It is true that Russia had friendly relations with England at that period, during the reign of Tsar Ivan the Terrible and Queen Elisabeth I. And it is also true he wanted to keep "exclusive trading rights with the Kingdom of England". The fact that a certain rebel plagued England is false. It is just for the fanfic.**

**Now, on with Chapter 2! Wrote this while listening to a sped up version of Pub & GO… somewhat helped me ^ ^. Includes some sword fighting!**

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter 2: The Duel

-So here you are, Misha…

John Kirkland observed the Russian rebel a few feet away, holding his sword tightly. He was starting to feel cold, for he was still soaking wet. Meanwhile, his main enemy took a step forward, causing the Englishman to back away.

-Obviously, he replied in a cold tone that sent chills down Kirkland's already frozen back, where else could I be?

John didn't reply to that; he simply jumped to a question that had been running through his head ever since the beginning of the battle.

-It's a little bit cowardly of you to hide from your adversary while your men are being killed and doing the dirty work for you, don't you think so, Braginski?

The Russian gave him a death glare. That pesky, arrogant Englishman wasn't going to beat him that easily.

-I should be asking _you_ that, Kirkland. You pretend to be shot in the heart, jump in the water pretending to be dead and swim all the way to this ship.

-Ingenious, isn't it? asked John, a proud smile on his face.

-Actually, no. You see, it was all part of my plan to make you come to me.

Kirkland felt like he just got hit in the head with a stone.

-Th-that's impossible! You simply don't want to admit the genius of an Englishman's brain!

Braginski let out a little laugh.

-If that were the case, do you think I would've let a rope hanging from the side of the ship you were going to climb on?

John bit himself in the tongue and cursed a dictionary of words in his head.

-If you're that much of a mastermind, I bet you already know why I am here.

-Indeed I do. You came to kill me, thus ending this battle, da?

-That's right, mumbled Kirkland out, getting rather pissed off, and you better be on your guard, I'm a rather skilled swordsman, without boasting.

-Really? I beat my father's opponents when I was at the tender age of six, replied Misha, taking out his long Russian saber. Although he tried to retain himself, Kirkland became uneasy, seeing the blade of his enemy's weapon reflect the light from the chandelier in an eerie way. Reassembling all his courage, he went to battle mode and his eyes met Braginski's purple ones.

-Well then, show me what you got, old chap…

At that very moment, he would've been dead if he wouldn't have lifted his sword up to block the saber. Braginski's face was a few inches from his, their blades trembling because of the amount of force each one of them put into them.

-I must admit, you have better reflexes than anyone who dared to fight me, da.

Kirkland stepped backwards and swiftly moved out of the way, nearly causing Misha to fall on his stomach. He got his balance however, stood straight and viciously attacked John with all the might his large, muscled body possessed. Height and strength were Kirkland's weak spots; he was 5'8" and usually needed help carrying a barrel of water he was so thin. Either it was adrenaline or a sudden amount of increased force, John blocked successfully every single one of Braginski's blows. He could clearly see the Russian man was getting angry, for his look became more dangerous and colder than before. After about fifteen minutes of continuous spine-chilling blade clashing, rapid movements and near-death moments, John's endurance slowly began to disappear. His fights never lasted longer than six minutes, and never required much force from him. But this was different. Every time he blocked Misha's blade from slicing him, his arm would shake violently, almost causing a muscle cramp because of the pressure put upon it.

-How much longer are you expecting to fight, Kirkland? I suggest you surrender now; otherwise you will meet your end in the most horrifying way.

-You honestly think your words scare me? It only shows your pathetic weakness!

John wished he would've kept his mouth shut. The Russian man immobilized himself and started muttering something under his breath. Kirkland lowered his sword, perplexed. Until something grabbed his neck and sent him smashing into the wall. The Englishman's breath was cut violently, and he was being choked. Braginski's hand was clenched tightly, squeezing John's neck every time he'd feel him inhale. Misha finally revealed his most terrifying look, the one of a crazed, conscienceless murderer about to kill its victim.

-You think I didn't do any effort in becoming what I am now? You think I became the most powerful man on Earth just like that? NO! How's this, da?

His knuckles cracked loudly as he squeezed the neck of the poor John more. Kirkland's face was getting hotter and hotter, and he was almost seeing his life in front of his eyes.

Suddenly, he saw Misha lift his saber up. That was going to be the final blow and goodbye life. The Russian swung his weapon down, awaiting a short yelp.

He felt intense pain in the chest. Silence. He opened his eyes, and saw his opponent's sword's blade deeply staked in his heart. His cruel, cold heart, which finally stopped beating. He let go of his saber and, as it fell clamorously onto the floor, he too collapsed. John inhaled air many times, finally able to breathe again. At the very last second, his last bit of strength allowed him to pierce Braginski near the left lung, straight in the heart. He contemplated the corpse when he heard someone running down the stairs and into the headquarters. He looked up and saw his men. They all looked at him, amazed.

-Captain, did… did you kill him?

John slowly nodded his head. He never intended on killing anyone, but for just this one time, it was necessary. As he glanced at Braginski's body one last time, his men all ran up on the deck and he heard them cheering. In the distance, he also heard some of the still living Russian rebels screaming:

-_Kapitan mertv! Kapitan mertv! _

They had won the battle.

_Three days later, in front of the Windsor Castle…_

The people of London all gathered to celebrate the victory of Kirkland and his army. After the Russians found out their leader got killed, they surrendered and were taken as prisoners. Now, the Queen was looking at the cheering crowds, waiting for John and his men to walk up to the front and be awarded of knighthood. The blonde man nervously commanded his comrades to do so, and as they walked up the aisle, slightly embarrassed, the Russian prisoners glared at them with such hatred all of them shook of fear. John noticed his family standing near the Queen, followed by the families of the survivors of the battle. Arthur was holding his younger brother Peter's hand, and his two other brothers, all older than him, were clapping along with the crowd, yet would "accidentally" nudge the poor little Arthur in the back with their elbows.

-My loyal subjects, the Queen began after claiming silence from her people, needless to say, Captain John Kirkland and his crew did a grand deed, a deed which shall be honorably rewarded. As you all know, Misha Braginski and his men started terrorizing England for an unknown reason, and neither me nor our friend the Tsar could stop him. Thankfully, our army succeeded in killing Braginski, Captain Kirkland, most of all. From what he told us, he was close to death but survived by a swift move to that man's heart. And let us not forget the courage of his men and of those that perished bravely in battle.

As she finished, she awarded each one of John's crew members of knighthood, under the delighted eyes of her people and the disgusted ones of the enemy. As the last one of them was claimed knight, the Queen raised her sword majestically.

-For the freedom of our country!

-FOR THE FREEDOM OF OUR COUNTRY, roared back the crowd, nearly deafening Kirkland and his men. Their families ran up to them and several tears and embraces were exchanged.

The ceremony and celebration lasted for two whole days. The local innkeepers prepared a great feast big enough for the whole town to enjoy, and everyone listened to the spine-tingling tales of the crew members. Out of pity, they also fed the Russian captives, who were going to be sent back to Russia and bear the consequences in the dungeons.

Arthur, who was also invited to the banquet, was observing them with an angry eye. Although he was only ten years old and didn't know that much about wars, he knew that anyone of them could've killed his father. He didn't dare to think what would happen if they would've done so. His beloved mother passed away because of disease when he was six, and since then his father never wanted to remarry.

A certain boy among the Russian prisoners caught his eye. He was pretty tall for his age (as far as Arthur was concerned, about 14 years old), seemed to have the strength of a horse, his hair was of a very pale blond and, the most surprising thing of all, were his lavender eyes. No doubting about it. Arthur got up, ran over to Captain Kirkland… no, sorry, _Sir _Captain Kirkland and whispered into his ear:

-Who is that boy over there, Father?

The man glanced over to where his son was looking and replied in a sad tone.

-That, my boy, is Ivan Braginski, son of Misha Braginski.

-You mean the Russian man you… killed?

He said the last word as if he was slightly terrified of the fact his father ended someone's life. John noticed that and patted his son's head.

-Yes, that man. I had to do it Arthur, For England, for its people and… for my family that I love so much.

He saw his son's green eyes become watery.

-And it is a shame that that boy over there will have to suffer the same fate as the other Russian pirates. Don't forget, he was as terrifying as his father. If you ever meet him again, please, be careful and avoid all conflict.

Arthur, intrigued, nodded and ran back to his spot in the grass, this time closer to the Russian boy, who was also staring at him. He looked neutral on the outside. But inside, all of his malice was gathering up, plotting revenge…

**Notes: **

**Chapter 2 is complete! Yayz! **

**Now a few notes, although there aren't many of them…**

**As usual, Hetalia isn't mine.**

**As far as I'm concerned, there wasn't any battle of the sort (unless you have an ancestor that fought Russian pirates, email me and I shall try to change something, yet I don't guarantee it).**

**Translations: **_**"Kapitan mertv"**_ means "**The captain is dead" in Russian. I thank my mom for helping me with this part (no, she's not Russian, she was taught the language when she was little, since Poland was back then under communist rule, but anyway).**

**I don't know why Russia must always be the antagonist…** **I'll try to make him a good perso**n **in further stories.**

**Also, I thank from the bottom of my heart all of the people who added my previous chapter to their faves. It really is encouraging. **


	3. Chapter 3: Stranded in the Sea

**Notes:**

**I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters, they belong to Himaruya Hidekaz! So here you have chapter 3, which bounces 8 years into the future from the moment when John Kirkland killed Misha Braginski, meaning now it's year 1587. The original story starts from here… **

**Enjoy.**

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter III: Stranded in the Sea

The loud ringing of a bell resonated in the peaceful, early morning and sea.

-Come on, mates, time to work, move it!

Arthur Kirkland's powerful voice echoed for miles around. He heard the unhappy moans of his crewmen below the deck, where all of them slept in hammocks suspended from the ceiling. It was his favorite activity apart from invading enemy ships; he would wake up hours earlier before it was time for the wake up call, climb on top of the crown's nest and watch the Sun rise from behind the horizon and paint as if with a paintbrush the indigo night sky in purple, red, orange and finally clear blue, creating a masterpiece reflected in the sea so grand, so magnificent, so breathtaking, and yet so ignored by the rest of the world. During those moments, his emerald green eyes would gaze dreamily at the view that has been repeating itself every single day since the beginning of Time. He knew what his father felt when he was a pirate-privateer. His father, whom he loved so dearly, whom died during a storm, far out at sea. The man who killed a Russian rebel, received knighthood and had to leave this world in such a tragic way. After his death, he left his four sons orphaned with an uncle that didn't want them any well-being and took almost all of their land and goods, leaving only their father's sword and clothes to Arthur.

The past seven years had been pretty harsh for the little family, and to make matters worse, Arthur's two older brothers, Cadfael and Kyle, got sick and tired of their drunken relative and ran away, each heading their own way to get a job, build a house and live somehow. Doing this, they left Arthur and their youngest brother, Peter, with their uncle, who forced Arthur to work like a bull and underfed the small, weak child Peter was back then.

Finally, one day (two years later, to be precise), both Arthur and Peter had it over their heads and they too ran off somewhere. Problem was they had no money. Fortunately, a kind old man took them in. He was the captain of a ship, _The Lady of Atlantis_, and he'd often take the two boys with him on his journeys and treated them like his own sons. He died of old age, leaving all of his goods to Arthur and Peter. Since they had no more known relatives, they decided to live a life of their own on the sea. They gathered some other boys about their age (they were little dare devils, and they knew it), some food supplies and set off into the unknown, with Arthur as their captain. Amazingly, they were handling things on their own extremely well, and already attacked more than three enemy ships. Four years passed, and not a single one of them perished.

Arthur wiped away a small tear that slid down his cheek. Life was hard, but they managed to survive. The sun was now half way up, and its rays gently and warmly caressed the young captain's face. A loud, slightly cold voice pulled him out of his reverie.

-Yo, captain, they're all on deck! Captaaaain! ~ Where the bloody hell are you?

-I'm up here, no need to scream your heart out!

-Oh, so there you are! I thought you went back to your headquarters.

Arthur sighed. His assistant, a young and energetic English fellow named Brendon Carlson, was always the one to announce whether or not all of the crew was on deck. Although there were times he was very, very loud, Arthur took a small liking to him and trusted all of his documents and maps to him. He went over the fencing of the lookout post and slid all the way down, holding his father's hat with one hand. After he landed safely on the wooden floor, he walked up to his crewmembers and a few of the captives they took with them after certain battles. They were all strong, healthy young men (some of the captives were women, but they also developed a sense of strength) that helped him run the ship. He coughed, his fist covering his mouth.

-Alright, good morning everyone. As usual, you will be given breakfast in a few minutes and then we shall all return to our tasks. All of you captives will go back under the deck. And remember: if we give out any alarm, you shall stay there until the battle will end. Understood?

Although he wasn't a dangerous pirate-privateer, his crew and captives never dared to break his orders or rules. He had a bad temper sometimes, but he never laid a finger on anyone… so far.

The silence was broken when the ship's chef, a Chinese boy called Yao Wang, whom they picked off from an enemy ship, rang frantically another bell from his kitchen.

-Breakfast, aru! Omelet with cheese, aru!

It was one past noon and the sun was now fully in the sky, sending its very warm light upon the ship's members who worked on deck. Sometimes they envied the captives, who were resting in the cool underground of the ship, without any work to do. Oh well, that was part of the life they had chosen, so they had to deal with it. Arthur was standing near the helm held by another one of his most trusted English members, Jack Sanders. His little brother, Peter, had the honorable duty of keeping an eye on the sea from the top of the crown's nest, and to scream if he'd spot any ships with a black flag or that seemed, in any way, dangerous. He was a stubborn teenager, and he knew that everyone depended on him, and that things could go very bad (especially for him from Arthur) if their ship would get attacked.

Arthur, also on the lookout, enjoyed the view of the sea as the salty water was reflecting the Sun's light. He stood there, proudly, in his father's red coat, brown pants, black boots and red hat that had a huge white feather attached to it. He understood why his dead parent loved sailing so much; to feel the freedom, the breeze gently flying through your hair and refreshing your face, to be able of closing your eyes and hear the roar of the waves that were created as the ship cut its way through the water…

-Arthur! Arthur!

-What is it, Peter? he yelled to his younger brother, a bit annoyed if being interrupted from his calmness. His anger dissipated itself a bit, for he spotted some intense worry in his brother's voice.

-There's something on the horizon, Sir!

Arthur let out a long laugh.

-Peter, you little devil, how dare you lie to all of us? There is absolutely nothing for miles around!

-But I swear there is! If you don't believe me, then come up here and see for yourself!

The young captain sighed: there was nothing he could do about his brother's stubbornness. He quickly climbed up to the crow's nest and waited for Peter to show him where the thing he saw was.

-Well? Show me the ship, brother, he said with a pinch of sarcasm.

Peter seemed to detect it and clenched his fists.

-It's not a ship, you bloody jerk; it's a small, _really_ small thing I saw!

Arthur widened his eyes and gave a worried face by puckering his lips.

-Real small, you say, he asked in a high-pitched voice, so small it probably doesn't even exist?

His crew on the deck below all burst out laughing like hyenas, much to Peter's despair. But he controlled himself; although he wished he could've punched his brother straight in the nose. He placed himself next to Arthur, forced him to bend down to his height and pointed towards the horizon.

-There. Can you see it now?

-Sorry, the only thing I see here is how much of a big liar you are. You will peel all of the potatoes Yao needs to make us supper as punishment.

Peter wanted to cry.

-But please believe me, you jerk! Look really closely to the horizon, and tell me if you see anything brown.

Arthur really wanted to get down from the crow's nest, but his brother's tone was so sincere that he bent down, narrowed his eyes and tried to spot something. Something brown… It might've been an old piece of wood from a sunken ship, or maybe Peter's imagination. His eyes began to hurt, as the blinding light of the Sun reflected in the water forced him to close them even more. And finally…

-Holy smokes… You weren't lying…

-Well, quite obviously, hissed Peter offended but proud of having a much better sight than his older brother, the _captain_ of the ship.

-Hey, Jack! Turn the helm towards one o'clock! And fast!

-Got it, captain!

As _The Lady of Atlantis_ was getting closer to the mysterious brown thing Peter spotted, all of the crew was impatiently watching, holding their breath. Arthur didn't let the captives up on deck, fearing some of them might fall overboard. He glanced at Jack.

-Can't the ship go any faster?

-We are at the limit, Sir.

Arthur let out a silent growl. He suddenly became very obsessed over finding out what the "thing" was. It could've been a piece of wood, or something else, but a voice in his head was telling him it wasn't any of the two. At last, they were close enough to finally figure out what it was. Arthur was dumbstruck.

-A boat? What's a lonely little boat doing so far out in the sea?

Indeed, it was very small, just as Peter described it. From the ship, it seemed to have six feet of length and was five feet large. Arthur cupped his hands near his mouth and shouted:

-Hey! Is there anyone in there?

Only the wind responded to his question. Now, they were twenty feet from the boat, which had a large white sheet covering the top, tied to the edges. After five minutes of yelling the question, Arthur's men told him the boat was probably empty, and that it was a waste of time. But he persisted.

-Either you bring this boat up, or my curiosity shall kill me.

The crew, who already encountered their captain's strong stubbornness, had no other choice but to heave the boat up.

They noticed that, at the two tips of the boats, were two large metallic rings, with an opening big enough to slip a hook through. Upon this, Arthur ordered his men to take two chains that each had a strong hook dangling firmly onto them, and get the two hooks through those openings. After that task was complete, four of the strongest pulled the metal chains and managed to get the boat out of the water. Ten minutes of grunts and effort to not let the boat fall back into the sea later, the four men finally placed the small yet heavy boat on deck. The other crewmembers all looked at it with their mouths open. Arthur took out his sword and started slicing the rope that was binding the sheet to the boat. Finally, he grabbed it and threw it aside. He felt his heart skip at least four beats.

At the bottom of the boat, under the wooden planks that served as seats, tied up with strong rope at the ankles and at their hands behind their backs, were two boys, about Peter's age, stiff like sticks. Because the boat was so small, they were both bent in two and nearly stacked onto each other on their sides. From Arthur's shocked point of view, they were skinny, had mud and dirt on their face, had deep scars on their arms and, much to his immense horror, the boat was filled with sea water up to its one eighth. If his little brother wouldn't have spotted it, these boys would've sunk in a matter of days.

The captain turned to his men.

-Well don't just stand there like mules! Take them out of there! Untie them, tell the women captives to wash them, cleanse their wounds and place them in my bed, and FOR THE QUEEN'S SAKE, HURRY! The good Lord knows how long they have been in that boat at sea without food!

The crew didn't need to hear the orders twice. All of them quickly heaved the boys out and ran down the stairs that led to the second floor of the ship, where people would bathe sometimes (in different water every time, of course). They went to the captives' section, called four women and Arthur didn't hear anything for half an hour.

When the captain descended to his headquarters in the evening, which were in his large room, the two boys were already placed in his bed, side by side, all clean and their wounds treated, still stiff. He approached the edge of the bed, bent down and placed his ear near their mouths to hear if they were breathing. Oh, thank goodness, they were. So they still had a chance of surviving. Arthur took his chair from his desk, placed it near his bed, sat down and watched over them, like one's guardian angel, until the crack of dawn, rocked gently by the waves of the quiet sea.

**Notes:**

**Added a little bit of drama in this chapter… Although I still wrote it with a heavy heart. **

**Cadfael: Arthur's brother, personification of Wales.**

**Kyle: Arthur's brother, personification of Scotland. **

**Also, **_**The Lady of Atlantis**_** is, as you may know already, Arthur's ship which he received in the old man's will along with his little brother Peter. I also had some fun in writing the reactions of Arthur and Peter according to their rather odd relationship ^ ^.**

**And yes, Yao Wang (China) will be present! I assigned him as cook, since they cook extremely well. **

**Reviews are welcome! **


	4. Chapter 4: The Tale of the Two Brothers

**Small note:**

**And then comes the fourth chapter… I won't say anything about what happens here, but there's one thing I can tell: **_**I KNOW**_** that little hair America has is an **_**AHOGE**_**, but let's just say I turned it into something our two favorite Italian brothers have… heheheheh…**

**Hope you'll enjoy! **

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter IV: The Tale of Two Brothers

The morning following the terrifying incident, Arthur was still in his room, sitting on his chair, looking at the two boys they found tied up in a small boat with almost no air to breathe and filled with water to some point. They were scarred on their arms and legs, as if someone cut them with a sword. They also had some slight bruises all over them. After Arthur ordered his men to have them washed, treated and placed in his bed (in new clothes, obviously), he decided to stay near them in case they would wake up and ask them first of all what were they doing in that boat, who they were and who in this world dared to put them in such condition.

As sunlight infiltrated the room through the small round window and shone onto the two boys' faces, Arthur was observing their every breath. The first one lying the closest to him was a young lad with dark blonde hair, and it was parted in an awkward way on his right side of the head. A single strand of hair was standing up on his head, giving him a funny expression. He had slightly tanned skin, and the captain concluded he came from a family that probably worked in the fields. As he was sleeping and snoring quietly, his mouth was a bit opened, and a little stream of saliva slowly ran down his lower cheek, forcing an amused Arthur to wipe it with his handkerchief every now and then.

Next to him was his twin, as everyone thought, for he looked almost exactly like the other boy except for some slight differences. Their faces were the same, but his hair was a lighter blond with slight red highlights, at above-neck length and it was a bit curly at the tips. He also had this one long hair that was bent down and it curled. His skin was also lighter, nevertheless still tanned.

The brothers were sleeping tightly, much to Arthur's relief. _Seriously, who would be cruel enough to treat them so badly?_ he thought, _What if it's… no, impossible, he's in a dungeon in Russia right now. I guess I'll have to ask them once they wake up_.

While he was contemplating the question, the lad in front of him yawned. Arthur quickly turned his head towards him and bent down. The boy's eyes slightly opened, revealing a blue that Kirkland had never seen before, not even in the beautiful sky at sunrise. Their looks met, and they remained that way until the youngster's head swung to the side and he fell asleep again. _What a funny boy…_ _But what's with that cowlick he has always standing up on his head?_ As Arthur mentally asked himself that, his hand reached slowly out for the hair, and, out of simple curiosity, he pulled it.

At that very moment, the lad's eyes opened wide, his pupils shrunk, and a loud scream sliced the silence of the sea, going in each and every direction.

Arthur, surprised, let go of the cowlick and blocked his ears sort of late. That lad might have been weak, but he sure could yell. He sat up, nearly falling off the bed, pulled the covers up to his neck and stared at Arthur, his face all red like a beet. His brother, who got woken up pretty violently, remained on his back, as if shocked because of the scream.

-WH-WHAT WAS THAT FOR? DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT HAIR AGAIN! I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU! Who are you, anyway?

_Reacts first and thinks after… _Arthur thought, his ears still aching. He unblocked them and looked into the boy's eyes.

-I should be asking _you_ that question, lad. But since you asked first… I am Arthur Kirkland, captain of _The Lady of Atlantis_, the ship you're currently…

-Whoa! You're a captain?

Arthur glared at him, a bit annoyed of being interrupted.

-Yes, yes I am. Now tell me, who are you two? And what on earth were you doing in that boat?

The boy, now at ease, let the covers down.

-My name's Alfred Frederick Williams Jones, fourteen years old.

He turned to his left and pointed at the other lad, who was still dumbstruck.

-And this is my brother, Matthew Williams Jones. We are both the same age, Sir.

Arthur looked at him and received a feeble smile.

-Don't mind him, he's very shy and can be so quiet you won't even know he's here, Alfred excused his brother. Anyway, as you have asked what we were doing on that boat, it's… a long story.

-I could not care less about how long it is. Take as much time as you need to.

The boy, quite surprised at how a stranger could take such interest to their fate, sat properly and began telling his and his brother's tale:

-Well, I already mentioned me and my brother's names; we come from a small town in Cambridgeshire. Our parents were Beatrice Williams and Edward Jones. We were their two only sons, and they both passed away due to very high fever when we were five. Since we came from a rather poor family, we quickly ran out of money and had to beg for food. It was the only way not to starve to death. One day, we asked this kind-looking man if he could give us the slightest loaf of bread. He agreed, but on one condition: he would keep us and feed us if we would work and help him on his ship. We were so young back then; we did not know that under that warm face he was a horrible, terrible man. Pardon me, he wasn't a man, he was hardly past the age of twenty! He would attack many, many ships, kill the captives (Alfred shook violently) in such ways I do not dare to repeat them, torture them, starve them to death or simply beat them and throw them overboard. I and my brother had to work really, really hard. Our tasks included scrubbing the deck many times a day, polishing his silverware, washing his clothes, feeding his two gigantic dogs that ate more than we ever did, and we also had to take care of the corpses of the dead captives or crewmembers that he had killed. In return for all that back aching work, he would give us one small piece of bread and some water from the sea, nothing else. We were outraged at the way he played such a dirty trick on us, two little orphans.

He glanced at Arthur, who was listening to him without any sign of fatigue after a long, sleepless night.

-And every time we had a task badly done or he would find out we had helped a few captives escape from the ship, he would whip us after drinking a whole barrel of liquor of some sort (he unrolled his sleeve, showing the many scars Arthur saw before). Once, he let his dogs on us; Matthew and I nearly got shredded to bits and almost lost our limbs. At last, after years of such life, we stood against him. It was one of the biggest mistakes we had ever done. He went into such rage, such fury that all of his crew hid on the lowest floor of the ship while he was beating us and attempting to cut us with his sword (unfortunately, he did so, as you may have seen). After he made sure we were nearly unconscious he hit us in the face, knocking us out. We felt as if someone was tying us with rope, and that was it. We woke up sometime later and realized we were on their smallest boat, slowly filling up with water. Boy did we scream for help! Isn't that right, Mattie?

His brother nodded, his purple eyes (which Arthur had just noticed) suddenly foggy.

-The boat was rocked by waves and we were so hungry we considered just tearing through the white sheet, leap into the water and drown, thus ending the pain that was present with us every day and night…

Kirkland quickly took out another clean handkerchief and handed it to the poor lad, for he had tears flowing down his small, thin face. Arthur thought he was going to start crying, too. It reminded him of his old life with his uncle, and he felt strong sympathy and compassion towards the two brothers. But he was a man, a _captain_, and he didn't want under any circumstance his crew or the boys to see him in that state. He cleared his throat, managing to unblock it from a strangling gasp of air that could have made him cry at any given moment. Then, something just sparked in his mind. An atrocious idea, so alarming it was unbearable.

-Tell me, Alfred… That man, who was he?

The boy shrugged after wiping his blue sparkling eyes with the white handkerchief.

-He called himself Aleksandr Dubrovskiy.

-And what did he look like? Please be precise on the description.

Alfred, slightly surprised, answered in a calmed down tone.

-He was awful tall, had hair of a pale blond color, almost white, and a very awkward feature: such weird lavender eyes, almost like my brother's.

Arthur felt like a cannonball just went through his chest. That description suited one person, and that was his father's enemy's son, Ivan Braginski.

_But… but… he is locked in a dungeon in Russia! How could he have escaped? It is practically impossible! But that description, it cannot be anyone else! Great Scott, if that is the matter then… these lads were…_

Not able to bear the wave of sadness overwhelming him, he broke up in heavy tears. Matthew sat up, shocked, and looked at his brother. They exchanged a look, and Alfred bent towards their helper and rested his hand on the captain's back, attempting to comfort him. Arthur, who hid his face with his hands, uncovered his eyes, which seemed like shining emeralds in a pool of red. He then saw Alfred hand him his handkerchief, which he quickly grabbed and wiped his face. After sniffling, he calmed down.

-P-please don't mention what you just saw, I would be the laughing stock of my crew…

-W-w-we won't, no need to worry, replied a quiet, angelic voice.

-Who said that?

-I did, answered a troubled Matthew.

-Oh, sorry, I hadn't… err…

-…noticed me, right?

Arthur slightly gasped, for what he said was a bit true. But Matthew didn't seem furious or hurt at all. He just smiled brightly at the captain. Kirkland, his face now fully back to normal, got up and walked towards the door. As he opened it, he turned his head towards them.

-You two would like some food?

At the word "food", the eyes of the brothers suddenly sparked like fire in gunpowder.

-Y-yes, we would, captain, they replied, using every bit of their remaining resistance not to run out the door and into the kitchen.

Arthur noticed it, smiled and yelled out:

-Yao! We need some food, down here!

After the young Chinese chef left, leaving two huge trays of food, Arthur sat down and stared at the boys eating. He noted they had a rather large appetite, for everything that was on the trays disappeared in a matter of five minutes. At the end of their meal, they lied down, bloated to the maximum.

-We owe you so much, captain, said Matthew, that we do not know what to do to show you our immense gratitude.

-You don't have to, trust me. But there is no way I am letting you out on deck yet, you need to heal completely. After that…

He paused before asking:

-Would it please you to become part of my crew?

The brothers seemed both troubled and confused. After exchanging another look that seemed like an inaudible conversation between them, Alfred spoke up.

-Of course we would.

The whole crew gathered in the headquarters, wanting to take a closer look at the boys they have saved. Alfred and Matthew answered a whole bunch of questions that were thrown at them, and Arthur was leaning on his side against the door. His two closest friends, Brendon Carlson and Jack Sanders, looked at him, amused.

-It seems that you have found two little precious strays, doesn't it?

Arthur slightly blushed.

-Yes, it does. And I have a feeling they will become skilled pirate-privateers, just like the rest of the crew, he replied, looking kindly at his new charges.

Carlson and Sanders glared discreetly at each other, and snickered under their breaths. Those two little urchins would do just fine…


	5. Chapter 5: Separation

**Small note:**

**Finally, fifth chapter! **

**-Okay. Because of this chapter and many more that will come, I honestly think the rating will have to go up…never thought I'd have to write something over K+.**

**-Also, for the last chapter, I KNOW everything seems unclear, especially at the two very last sentences. Don't bother asking me what those two mean. You'll find out… in a few chapters *evil face***

**-If you Alfred/Matthew fans are asking yourselves: "Why didn't this *look at pen name* girl/boy person didn't put da brothers with glasses?" **

**Well, eyeglasses are said to have been invented a thousand years ago in China, but just so you people know, eyeglasses weren't that popular in England in the 16****th**** century, and those that actually were worn were pretty uncomfortable and big, so I just described Alfred and Matthew without them. Otherwise, they'd have to hold them with their hands at all times.**

**So please, don't hold a grudge against me for not making them wear glasses as they should! **

**-This chapter includes a certain Latin duo… enjoy! ^ . ^ **

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter V: Separation

_After Arthur Kirkland had found and befriended two young brothers, Alfred and Matthew Williams Jones, in a small boat, all tied up and injured, he took them in and nursed *cough* them back to health. First, he proposed them a life on his ship, to which they agreed. Unlike during their previous deal, life was extremely good. The two youngsters would get regular fighting and fencing lessons from Arthur (although once Alfred nearly cut his head off by swinging the blade too close to Arthur's neck during an attempt to show off his skills). _

-Alright, Alfred, I showed you how to unable your opponents to pull a blow, now, prove me that you have mastered it!

-Yes, sir! said Alfred a little too loud and took out his sword as Arthur did the same.

The young captain stood, ready, but nothing foreshadowed what happened next.

-I am ready when you ar…

Before he could finish his sentence, something shiny slashed air just inches from his face and neck. He didn't realize what it was, and nearly screamed. After leaping back, he saw Alfred, frantically and blindly waving his sword in every possible direction. Arthur stood a few feet from him, confused. He finally approached and blocked Alfred's blade with his in order to stop the lad from shaking it any longer. Their looks locked for a while until Arthur spoke calmly to a dumbstruck Alfred.

-I think I will wait until you will become a little bit better. You should not attack with such haste all the time, especially in training.

The boy looked at him, embarrassed, walked to the other side of the ship, sat down, pulled his knees to his chest, crossed his arms on them and pouted while Arthur was showing some moves to Matthew, who was somewhat frightened of holding a weapon he might use to attack someone one day. He looked at the captain from over his arms. Okay, so his plan failed. So what if his brother was better? Huh, he was better at other things, like…

Alfred suddenly realized his brother was better than him at nearly everything on the ship. This depressed him even more, and stayed like that until a late hour, as he categorically refused to come below the deck to sleep in his hammock. _I'll be fine; I can sleep outside, for all I care._ Somewhere around midnight, while he still wasn't sleeping due to the cold and the waves shaking the ship, he suddenly heard a voice next to him.

-Oi, are you going to stay like that for the whole night?

The boy nearly leaped.

-A-Arthur? I mean, captain? What are you still doing up this late?

-That is what I was going to ask you.

Alfred didn't want to say the reason of his little rebellion. But as he tried looking up discreetly at Kirkland and got caught doing so, he got up and walked towards the door that led to the crew's bedroom. Until something rested on his shoulder. His head turned rapidly. It was Arthur. He looked at him, with a neutral face, and finally spoke up with a small smile.

-We shall restart blow-blocking tomorrow, alright?

Alfred had a confused expression, but managed to smile back. Maybe being worse than your brother _does_ have its positive side.

_Of course, when their ship was under attack, the captain wouldn't allow the brothers on deck, and ordered them to be taken to the lowest floor of the ship for safety measures (he might've been a severe pirate, but at least he was responsible!). Eventually, as Matthew and Alfred climbed onto a superior level in fighting, they were allowed during battles and, after a few extra months, they fully took part in fights. _

_And so, years passed, and the two brothers were both 21, with Arthur only four years older, although the twins were both taller than him by some two inches. Over those seven years, Alfred had occasional misunderstandings with Arthur, but sometimes it went to the point of not speaking to each other at all for two days. Although these fights were becoming more frequent as Alfred grew up, the two would always somehow reconcile. _

_Matthew and Alfred also developed strong bonds with Brendon Carlson and Jack Sanders and they were like little brothers to the older crewmembers. Well then, on with the rest of the story, starting from the day where everything and I mean _everything_ changed._

It was another colorful and cool morning on the _Lady of Atlantis_, and the crew was slowly waking up as the bell rang. Despite the warmth below the deck, the air just felt… unpleasant. Very unpleasant.

After everyone seemed to be on deck, Arthur counted his crew to make sure it was the case. _10, 11, 12, 13, 14… 14? Don't tell me he's still down there!_

He sighed and marched angrily down the stairs onto the "bedroom" floor. His eyes scattered the room and, indeed, there was a curled-up figure whose feet were dangling from both sides of its own suspended "bed", snoring aloud. Arthur, boiling on the inside, walked towards it and saw the sleeping boy he had found and rescued seven years ago. Of course, he had grown up to be a strong, healthy and cheerful boy, but he could be stubborn and a bit disobedient at times. As usual, he overslept, despite the loud bell ringing. _Dear Lord, will this lad ever learn? He better wake up before I will be forced to whack him on the head! _

Instead, he inhaled deeply.

-WAKE UP, FOR THE QUEEN'S SAKE!

Almost immediately, Alfred's eyes opened wide and, due to the sudden scream, he leaped up and landed on the floor flat on his stomach. He muttered some inaudible words when he saw some black boots a few inches from his nose. He looked all the way up and smiled as his eyes encountered the enraged Englishman's.

-G'morning, Arthur, he said in an amused tone.

-It's _good_ morning, articulate, child! Why haven't you gone on deck, just like everyone else?

Alfred got up and looked down at the slightly older man, still smiling.

-Well, I sort of fell asleep, you see, and, well, yeah…

-Can you not even make a proper phrase? Plus, you have been telling me the same excuse every single day! Will you ever learn to be disciplined?

The taller one still had an amused expression, but it got replaced by a sad smile. Arthur suddenly felt a small pinch inside his soul, and considered forgiving Alfred and even apologizing to him. And those thoughts became twice as powerful, for those blue eyes became watery, and a shy little tear slowly flew down his cheek. Arthur started panicking. He never liked making anyone cry, unless it was an enemy or someone he despised more than anything.

-Oh, come now, Alfred, you know I did not mean that! Please! I shall forget you didn't come on deck, but _please_ get a hold of yourself! Alfred!

As his charge suddenly collapsed on his knees, facing the floor, Arthur thought he was going to lose his nerves. After forcing him back up, he placed his right hand on Alfred's left shoulder to comfort him… until the blue-eyed man grabbed it, bent down, and swung his arm behind Arthur's knees and… the captain felt like he was flying.

-**Put me down, put me down this very instant, you wanker!** I mean it!

Alfred laughed somewhat loudly, tightened his grip on Arthur and began walking up the stairs to the deck, as curses were spit here and there from the Englishman's mouth. The captain's embarrassment grew even more when he heard his crew burst out laughing hysterically, except for Matthew, who was looking at his brother, shocked. Arthur, who was held on Alfred's shoulder backwards like a sack of potatoes, just wanted to die on the spot. He lifted his head to Alfred's ear and whispered as calmly as he could:

-Alfred Williams Jones, I would be most grateful if you would kindly put me down.

-If you say so, cap'tn!

When Arthur was finally back on his feet, he replaced his red hat on his head, cleared his throat and began his usual speech, hoping everyone would forget the incident, but glared every time he would hear a giggle.

-Well, my friends, another day, just like every other day, we shall…

-Arthur! Arthur! ARTHUR!

-What is it, Peter?

-There are two ships on the horizon!

Peter, who was the same age as Alfred and Matthew, had a lower, manlier voice, but it still sounded a bit like when he was younger.

-Do they seem like enemy ships, Peter?

-I'm not so sure, but I think… holy smokes!

Arthur saw his younger brother rub his eyes, which soon widened to an extreme size.

-Well? What is the matter?

-T-T-There's a French ship followed by a Spanish one!

Kirkland's expression turned to alarmed. France and Spain. England's current main enemies. Of course, the Spaniards were more dangerous to be around a lonely Englishman, but because of the Reformation that occurred not so long ago, the French were also merciless when it came to something they would call the English "heretics", and vice versa. Arthur sighed, climbed swiftly to the crow's nest and covered his eyes from the sun with his hand. Indeed, two ships were approaching menacingly fast, each one of them having a French flag and a Spanish one. _So they made a small agreement even though they're at war, haven't they? Well, it seems they are clueless about who they are planning to attack_, Arthur thought to himself with a malicious, almost fox-like grin. He looked down at his worried crew.

-Prepare for battle, my friends!

Arthur panted heavily, almost out of breath and hurting everywhere on his body.

-Curse you, pirate, he hissed, wishing he could tear the man in front of him to bits.

He was glaring deep inside that man's green eyes, lighter than his own. The Spaniard had the tip of his sharp, shining blade slightly pressed against the captain's neck, ready to sink into his flesh. He let out a loud laugh.

-Me? A pirate? You're the _pirata_, here!

Arthur swallowed some saliva, his skin almost pricking itself on the blade. The two ships were surprisingly better armed than the _Lady of Atlantis_, and they quickly took the upper hand. Kirkland's men fought the best they could, but a band of over-excited Spaniards invaded the ship and forced everyone to disarm, including Arthur, who was, according to his old enemies, the master of swordsmanship. He looked to the other end of his ship, where Yao, Jack, Brendon, Matthew, Alfred, Peter and the rest were tied with hands behind their backs, kneeling on the deck, with the Spanish group laughing hysterically around them. The captives were also taken on deck, and all looked extremely frightened. What was going to become of them? Were they going to be killed? Thrown overboard?

Alfred lifted his head and, with a worried face that caused Arthur's heart to twinge, his blue eyes met his. But one of the excited Spaniards hit his neck, forcing him to lower his head back down in a small grumble of pain.

Meanwhile, the French ship, which stayed at a safe distance away from the English one during the battle, floated towards it, proudly. As it came to a very close distance, the Spanish captain, who was holding Arthur against the mast with his sword, turned his head and yelled out:

-Hey, you, _el francés_! I cannot believe you made me do all the filthy work for you!

As he said that, the men from the other ship placed a large wooden plank that served like a bridge joining the _Lady of Atlantis_ and French ship. Arthur heard someone walking on it loudly, and then felt the deck floor vibrate not very gently, as if someone jumped upon it. When the Spanish man moved a bit, the captain saw the most nifty-looking man he had ever laid his eyes on. He was about his height, had shoulder-length, wavy blond hair, some facial hair around the chin, making his face seem longer, had clear blue, cat-like eyes and was wearing a fancy blue suit with a matching cape that went past his back and was waved around by the breeze, shiny black boots and a belt, along with a gun.

He stood there with an over-exaggerated amount of pride, and looked at the Englishman, slightly disgusted. He walked towards him, as the Spaniard shoved Arthur, making him fall on his knees. He didn't dare look up until the French man grabbed his chin, looking into his eyes like a greedy customer wanting to find a healthy animal to bring back home. After some time, he let go if Arthur hastily and shook his head in disagreement.

-_Non, non, non et non! _'Zis man izn't a~ good choissse! Are you seriously 'zinking that _moi_, 'ze honoruble _Francis Bonnefoy_, would take such a~ skinny fool?

-_Escucha_, Francisco! We made an agreement: we would attack this heretical ship together, and if there would be any men good enough to keep then we would take them, _de acuerdo_? Of course, we are taking the captives and we shall have them baptized at once; but the captain and his crew are going either with me or you.

-And just who the bloody hell do you think you are, barging in and planning on taking my captives?, finally spoke up Arthur, irritated.

The brunet Spaniard turned to him.

-This is Francis Bonnefoy, as you heard him say it himself; I, _mi amigo_, am Antonio FernándezCarriedo, one of the best Spanish privateers serving under the name of our dear king Felipe II. And you, heretic, _quién eres_?

-I am Arthur Kirkland, captain of this ship. And I am _most definitely_ not your little _amigo_, you tomato-loving fool.

Antonio's smile disappeared.

-You were right, Francisco. He is not worthy of our attention. Not only is he skinny, he has a sharp tongue, as well.

-_Comme je te l'ai dit_! So, what z'other people doo we have?

-Before we get to that, what do we do with this insolent?

Antonio pointed at Arthur. Francis shrugged.

-I guess z'I will have him sold as z'a~ _esclave_ to my _ami_ Charles, who iz currently on my ship.

Arthur was dumbstruck. That frog (as he began to call him mentally) was going to sell him? As a slave? To his other French friend?

-You can only dream about it, you bloody git. There is no way I am letting myself getting sold to some other sort of frog like you.

Francis' face turned red like a beet, but he cooled down.

-Either 'zat, or we shall be obliged to throw you in 'ze ocean.

Arthur shut his mouth immediately. There was no way they were going to make him swim, for he didn't know how to.

-Oh, _Chaaaaaarles! Viens ici; j'ai un esclave pour toi! _

The man Francis called, Charles, was on the _Lady of Atlantis_ a few seconds later. Bonnefoy whispered something in his ear, and Charles nodded, satisfied.

-_Alors_, will you take him?

-_Mais certainement!_

_This is bad, so, so, very bad_, thought Arthur, knowing he had no chance of getting out of this mess. He looked at Alfred, and he could have sworn he saw his blue eyes shine a bit.

-_Excellent!_ So, let'z continue, shall we?

The trio proceeded in observing the rest of the crew, as two of Charles' men came on board and got hold of Arthur, waiting for their captain to choose his new slaves. Francis chose three of Arthur's men, Charles claimed the poor Chinese chef Yao, who was on the edge of crying, Peter, Brendon Carlson and Jack Sanders. They also divided the captives.

-And what doo we doo about 'zis two?

Francis pointed out Alfred and Matthew. Antonio looked at the twin with wavier hair and said in a cheerful tone:

-He has very pretty _ojos_, just like orchids blooming in the spring. I shall take him, along with those four.

Matthew flushed, but not of pleasure. He did so because of the fact that he will be separated from his brother and the crew whom he loved dearly for quite some time, if not for the whole rest of his life.

-I already have enough slaves back at home, stated Charles.

Alfred's attention turned to Francis. The Frenchman glanced back, deep in thoughts. Then, he seemed to ask Charles for advice.

-_Je dois avouer qu'il est plutôt mignon! _

_-Vous avez raison; mais si je le prendrais, j'aurais trop de bouches à nourrir. Sur ce, je suggère que tu le prennes, Francis._

Francis looked back at Alfred, smiling.

-Then I shall take you, _jeune homme_!

-Never in my life!

The French turned to where the voice came from: Arthur.

-What do you mean, _Arthur_? There iz absolutely no'zing you can do about 'zit.

-You are NOT taking him nor is he taking Matthew. Understood?

The Spaniard and the Frenchmen all looked at him, shocked. Charles spoke, annoyed.

-My friend, it iz impolite to speak like 'zat to my friendz.

-And who are YOU to tell me that?

-Why, I am your master, of cour'ze.

That was the straw that cracked Arthur's back.

-YOU ARE NOT GOING TO LAY A FINGER ON THEM! YOU HEAR ME? NOT A SINGLE FILTHY FINGER! **Let go of me, you two gits! Stop it, let me go, now, or you shall suffer!**

Alfred watched in amazement as Charles' men pulled a still injured Arthur with all their effort onto the plank bridge by his arms, while he was waving them with such fury he thought the three will trip and fall into the ocean. He would wince from the pain his injuries caused, but Arthur did everything to break free. Alfred had never seen him in such a state. So enraged, infuriated, like a mad dog wanting to protect its master from a certain danger. Of course, Arthur wasn't a dog; nevertheless it was a good comparison. To say it shortly, it left Alfred flabbergasted. That's right, flabbergasted.

-Well then! Since we have everything sorted out, let us part routes and go back to our countries!, declared Antonio in a forced happy tone, in an attempt to break the heavy atmosphere that was being created by Arthur's yells and curses.

As the three men ordered to have their prisoners taken on board of their ships, Francis suddenly realized something.

-Wait a minute! What shall we do with 'zis ship?

Exactly. What would be done with the _Lady of Atlantis_?

-Well, I shall gladly take it!, replied Charles in a greedy tone.

-Alright, have it, said Francis, a bit surprised of his friend's demands, bring that annoying Englishman back to this ship with the rest of Charles' prisoners!

Alfred was still on that very ship, waiting to be transported like a criminal to the Francis's ship. He saw Arthur being dragged by three men this time, and his caretaker looked at him from under his messy blonde bangs with a sad yet angered look. As they passed near Alfred, Arthur suddenly stopped and leaned over to his friend:

-Alfred, please be careful, and DO NOT encounter Ivan.

-Who is Ivan?

-You know, the man that…

-What are you two chatting z'about? Be quiet!, yelled one of the three men.

-…the man that nearly ki…

-I said be quiet!, the guard said, slapping Arthur hard on the cheek.

-**You be quiet!**, roared Arthur back and turned to his friend, Alfred, please, just do not meet with Ivan Braginski.

-But why?.. What?

-One more thing. Please listen… I… I…

-_LA FERME!_

One of the men punched Arthur across the face so hard the Englishman fell backwards, only to be pinned to the ground by the three men like a mad man. He was punching air, enraged.

Alfred was going to jump on them and show them where the fishes sleep, but Francis grabbed and dragged him onto his own ship.

-Arthur!

He stared at the three men that were wrestling with Arthur, giving him a punch every time he would cuss.

He saw his poor brother Matthew, now as pale as a sheet, being shipped to the Spanish ship along with some captives and other prisoners. His twin, the only member of his remaining family.

-Mattie…

His brother looked at him with pain in his eyes, and disappeared (forever, maybe) under the deck with the rest of the captives.

Finally, after a quick hand shake and some grateful words, Francis had the wooden plank removed, the anchor taken up and the three ships sailed away from each other. Alfred was being forced under the deck, but he managed to resist and glanced at his old ship. There he still saw Charles' men holding Arthur and he looked at him. The emerald green eyes seemed to send a message to Alfred "_We will get out of this, just wait!_", and the young man felt a certain feeling of hope deep down within his soul. But suddenly, a strong hand shoved his head and he tripped and tumbled violently all the way down the stairs where the captives were. He heaved himself up since his hands were tied, and suddenly the two heavy wooden doors closed themselves, forbidding even the slightest ray of light to enter the now pitch black cellar. Alfred wanted to cry in complete desperation. His hope was gone, just like the light that somehow revived it before.

**Notes:**

**Okay, I have a lot of notes, so I'll start with translations.**

**-**_**pirata**_** (Spanish)= pirate **

**-**_**el francés**_** (Spanish)=the French **

**-**_**Non, non, non et non**_** (French)**=**No, no, no and no **

**-**_**moi**_** (French)=me **

**-**_**Escucha**_** (Spanish)=Listen **

**-**_**de acuerdo?**_** (Spanish)=alright? **

**-**_**mi amigo**_** (Spanish)=my friend **

**-**_**quién eres?**_** (Spanish)=who are you? **

**-**_**Comme je te l'ai dit**_**! ****(French)=Just like I told you! **

**-**_**ami **_**(French)=friend **

**-**_**Viens ici; j'ai un esclave pour toi! **_**(French)=Come here; I have a slave for you! **

**-**_**Alors**_** (French)=So**

**-**_**Mais certainement!**_**(French)=But most certainly!**

**-**_**ojos**_** (Spanish)=eyes**

**-**_**Je dois avouer qu'il est plutôt mignon!**_**(French)=I must admit that he is rather cute!**

**-**_**Vous avez raison; mais si je le prendrais, j'aurais trop de bouches à nourrir. **__**Sur ce, je suggère que tu le prennes, Francis. **_**(French)=You are right; but if I would take him, I would have too many people to feed. Thereupon, I suggest that you take him, Francis. **

**-**_**jeune homme!**_** (French)=young man!**

**-**_**LA FERME!**_** (French)=SHUT UP!**

**Now, historical notes. **

**-Yes, France was against Protestantism, although I'm not sure there have been naval fights. If not, than this is just my invention. If yes, hurray for my intuition. **

**-King of Spain Felipe II (or Philip the II) was in fact a king that reigned from 1554 until his death in 1598. And yes, I know, at that time France and Spain were at war, but both countries had a grudge against England, so why not?**

**-THE ATTITUDE SEEN IN THIS CHAPTER DOESN'T NECESSARILY REFLECT THOSE OF REALITY. Sure, maybe some ships treated their prisoners very harshly, so I connected the two. For all of you Spain and France lovers, this is part of the plot, so don't worry and wait for further chapters.**

**-Also, at that time, France somewhat allowed slavery, and there were slave trades in Nantes and Bordeaux, two towns touching the Atlantic Ocean. In Spain, however, slavery was allowed in the New World, during the colonization. **

**So, I hope you enjoyed! I'll be done with chapter 6 in a few days (if I don't have too much homework)! **


	6. Chapter 6: Sold

**Notes:**

**Just a small note, but I'll try to say only the gist of it; otherwise you would know what's going to happen. There will be some new characters introduced, and also, I thank everyone who added this story to their favorites/alert from the bottom of my heart. Really, thank you a lot.**

**Well then, on with the show!**

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter VI: Sold

Francis Bonnefoy's ship has been sailing for over four days now since the attack on the _Lady of Atlantis_. Unlike the other captives, Alfred Williams Jones refused to eat even the slightest bread crumb, despite the hunger that has been ravaging his stomach every single minute. Why would he eat food that came from the person that separated him from the crew? Or, most importantly, from his dear brother and a man who had been the kindest to them after their deceased parents? That would be the most unheroic thing a man could ever do! Thereupon, he would hastily shove the dishes that were served to him as far away as possible, but his endurance was slowly fading away every day. Minutes turned to hours, and he would curl up in a ball in order to calm his empty and demanding stomach, which tortured him restlessly day and night.

During that painful fasting, Alfred was deeply lost in his raging sea of thoughts. Why did fate make him meet Arthur Kirkland? Why did he and his brother accept being part of the crew? Why did that Spanish tomato-lover attack _their_ ship? Why was _he_ taken prisoner by that frog? Why was he separated from a man that was almost like a father to him? Why was he going to be sold to God knows who back in France, country whose majority opposed themselves to Protestantism? Was he going to be killed if no one would buy him?

To be honest, Alfred couldn't find a way to answer even one of these questions that were tormenting his spirit. The only thing he knew, though, was that, right now, he was like some sort of merchandise from another land being shipped to its destination against its will (even though rice or sugar have no free will, it suited poor Alfred perfectly).

Alfred couldn't bear it any longer. The other captives were looking at him as if he were mad. How could he not eat? He was on an _enemy_ ship, for Pete's sake! And _enemies_ don't always _feed_ their enemy prisoners with such delicious food!

Every day, the captain, Francis, would go down to the cellar and see if his captives were eating or if anyone needed medical attention. He noticed the blue-eyed man's refusal of eating, but showed little concern.

In the young man's opinion, it was probably nightfall by now, and the last meal had been taken from the captives. Alfred's plate, as usual, was untouched. The guard who had the task of bringing back the plates shook his head.

-_Vous n'allez vraiment point manger?_

Even though Alfred didn't understand anything, he glared at him, and it was clear to the man that those sky blue eyes were saying: « _There is no way that_ _I will eat anything that comes from you, you idiots_». After the guard shrugged, he disappeared and locked the heavy doors loudly for the night. And on came the sleep-depriving torture.

Alfred was rolling on the floor for nearly an hour since the guard left. His stomach was killing him, burning him inside and making the man go crazy. For once he reconsidered doing something. _Man, I really should've eaten something, at least one slice of bread or a sip of water…_ _If I survive until morning, I will eat the first thing they give to me…_

Suddenly, he heard someone walking on the deck, and then someone unlocking the lock that was sealing the cellar doors. Finally, they were opened, and a fresh breeze of the sea air flew in, somewhat comforting Alfred. He saw two guards come down the stairs and walk up to him.

-_Si vous voulez bien nous suivre, monsieur. Le capitaine vous attend_.

Alfred understood _capitaine_, which meant « captain ». _So, the frog wants to see me, eh? I wonder why…_ The guards closed the doors after the man got out. They took him to headquarters.

It was a pretty large room, with a well-scrubbed shining floor, walls painted in a handsome royal blue, and decorated with a dozen portraits, and Alfred guessed those were Francis' ancestors, for they all shared the same wavy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. From the ceiling was hanging a prestigious chandelier with over fifty well-lit candles. The Frenchman also had two locked glass cabinets standing against two separate walls, which served as a type of display "shelves", and on them were exposed emeralds, rubies, diamonds, costly silver plates, golden spoons and a whole variety of treasures. Next to one of those cabinets was a tall library filled with heavy, old books and maps written in languages Alfred couldn't understand. _Must be in Latin or French… _Finally, at the complete end of the room, was the captain's desk. And on the blue satin chair was sitting no one else but Francis Bonnefoy in all his glory, his hands joined on his bureau.

-Sit down, _mon cher ami_.

Alfred walked towards the chair that had been waiting for him and sat down. Francis ordered his men to leave and waited until they did so to begin talking.

-_Monsieur_ Alfred, he said in a tone that seemed between concerned and angered, you doo know that you are extremely lucky of being on 'zis ship?

-I wouldn't say I do, replied the younger man on a sarcastic note. The Frenchman glared at him but continued.

-You see, _monsieur_, you are going to become, in a few dayz', a slave, underrstoode?

-Yes, I know that very well, Francis.

-Well then, if you know 'zat, 'zen _pourquoi_ aren't you eating?

Alfred looked at him, as if his answer was going to be obvious. The French captain let out a sigh of exasperation and fixed his hair by pulling it back with a dramatic movement and releasing it.

-You need too know zat' you must absolutely look healthy. In order too look healthy, you must z'eat. And if you look healthy, people will actually want to buy you as z'a slave. And who knows, maybe thoz'e people will be rich, which meanz' your life will be better than with poorer masters.

-The rich aren't always the best, you know.

-Look, what I am trying to say iz' that you must eat! Do you wish to starve to death?

-For the hundredth time, I'm _not_ eating anything that comes from you French frogs that separated me from my only brother and crew!

Francis looked at him, incredulous, his elbow on the chair's arm, his head resting upon it. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers, and the door opened. Alfred's nose quivered. He smelled something roasted, well spiced, something that just got cooked. He turned around, swallowing his saliva, and nearly choked on it. Two guards came in with trays filled with steaming food. Alfred saw, when they deposed them in front of him, their contents. There was a fresh, big loaf of bread straight out of the oven; next to it was a full roasted duck that smelled so heavenly Alfred could feel his mouth water even if he would swallow it; there was also this strange dish which he had never seen before: it was a solid, light brownish rectangular loaf of something and seemed to be pretty humid. Finally, there was a glass of red liquid, which Alfred thought was wine. The two guards left, leaving the captain and the captive alone. Francis grinned as his prisoner was looking at the food with eyes like stars.

-Pretty tempting, _non? _Traditional French food from _France_!

Alfred gaped at him, his mouth wide open.

-This is… is... all for me?

-Who else, you silly fool? replied Francis in an obnoxious yet very amused tone.

_Half an hour later…_

-Thanks a lot, Francis; the food was amazing, hic!

Alfred waved lightly at the Frenchman while drinking his fifth glass of wine.

-And the wine is just awesome! Hic! Seriously, you guys ain't so bad after all~ hic! And this thing tastes so good I'm already feeling dizzy! Normally, when I would drink wine on my friend's ship, even if I would drink half the barrel, I could still walk in a straight linehic!

Francis smiled back at him.

-Yes, French wine is wondrous… it makes you forget all your deepest worries. And the present as well…

Alfred saw the Frenchman get up and approach him.

-I know, right! I mean… hic! I can't remember what happened yesterday, or yesterday's yesterday…

He looked up, only to see Francis' face dangerously close to his.

-In that case, I shall do everything to make you remember 'zis…

-_Capitaine_?

The captain leaped from surprise and turned around. One of his guards was at the door, looking extremely paranoid. Francis cursed cruelly in his mind, but had a smile on the outside core.

-_Oui, Lucien?_

-_Paul_ indicated that we sh'ell arrive in _France_ in three days… I hope I had not interrupted you, had I?..

-_Non, non, _of course you did not! I was just about to walk zis man to 'ze door!

_Lucien_ looked at him, uneasy, helped Alfred up and led him back to the cellar doors.

The three days passed by smoothly. Alfred finally agreed to eat French food and liked it so much he seemed to have gained a little bit of weight. The ship arrived in Nantes, a small trade port in the Duchy of Brittany, which included slaves for sale, as Alfred found out from one of the other captives that were traveling with him.

The young man felt the ship stop, and guessed it must have thrown its anchor. The two heavy doors got opened, and sunlight bathed the room in its shine. Alfred could hear children, women, men and traders that were crying out loud that their fish was still fresh. Francis Bonnefoy went down the stairs and began speaking after the guards claimed silence.

-_Mes amis_, 'zis i'z 'ze end of our journey, and all of you shall be either sold or baptized in a nearby church. Those that have been claimed by _moi_, please step forward. Z'e rest, stay where you are.

Alfred wanted to blend in with "the rest", but Francis already saw him. He marched forward and climbed the stairs with a few more men. There the captain told them to stand in line. Suddenly, they heard a loud, brawny voice.

-_Bonjour, Francis! _So_,_ you have some new slaves, eh?

Alfred looked and saw a chubby man walking up the "bridge" that allowed people to get on and off the ship. He had spiky blonde hair, black eyes and tanned skin. His white shirt was torn, and looked very poor, yet strong like a bull. Francis smiled weakly.

-Yes, indeed I do, _Robert_…

-Z'at is great, I was getting tired from waiting!

The captain seemed annoyed, but cleared his throat and turned to Alfred and the rest.

-My friends, 'zis is _Robert de la Haie_, a known slave trader. He shall see if you are in good shape, and will keep you until someone shall want to buy you…

Meanwhile, Robert was observing every single man and woman that was standing in front of him. After a strict inspection, we yelled for joy:

-_Francis_, 'zese are ze best slaves I have ever seen! Now, chain 'zem and bring 'zem down to my stock.

Alfred fidgeted. He will be chained? Like a criminal? Or worse, an animal?

To not make matters worse, he let the guards chain his arms and legs and was directed down the "bridge" onto land. It was a town buzzing with life, filled with houses and that had various market stands selling a little bit of everything. Robert took the lead and walked towards his stand, which was made of wood and in the center of the port, in order for people to see him and his slaves. All of them walked onto the wooden stand and waited as their new chief placed wooden tablets, each indicating their cost and value. Alfred looked down at his tablet; it said he was worth _300 écus_.

Francis looked at Robert and announced:

-I guess my work I'z done here. I shall come back with more slaves next time, _d'accord?_

-You better, _Francis! _replied Robert, trying to sound menacing.

The captain turned to Alfred, looked at him sadly for a moment and walked away, his cape flowing in the air. The rather tall young man sighed. Now he was going to have to wait until someone would want to get him out of this mess.

Hours passed, but it was only past noon. Robert was screaming at the top of his lungs that he had new, healthy slaves at a cheap price, that they would satisfy their masters greatly and that some of them were sons or daughters of grand kings (which, obviously, was a lie only to attract customers). Alfred was standing, feeling tired, as the sun was hitting him and overwhelming him with suffocating heat. A few people would look at him and his comrades, although their attention was drawn towards Alfred. He became the target of malicious and foxy looks of numerous young women, even though their husbands were standing near and would glare at him furiously, while Alfred tried to explain with a desperate look that it wasn't his fault at all.

Another hour ticked by, and two slaves were bought by a rich, fat man in golden clothes and his old, skinny wife. There were only seven of them left, and Robert de la Haie was getting impatient. Why weren't people buying his slaves, for the love of the king? It was outrageous!

-_Esclaves à vendre! Venez voir mes esclaves, tous sont forts et en excellente santé, et à bas prix! _

Some townspeople glared at the loud slave-trader and walked away, trying to look uninterested. This enraged Robert even more. Meanwhile, Alfred was hardly standing on his feet it was so hot. He should've known that the August sun would be harder to bear on land than on a ship. The thought of the _Lady of Atlantis_ (or however it has been called now by that frog's French friend) caused him to have a flashback about the day he and Matthew were thrown into the boat, severely injured, hoping to die. The day they got salvaged by Arthur's crew…

Alfred slightly shook his head. It was time he'd turn into a man, and men never look back into their past, no matter how painful it was. He had to think about the future, and how he was going to get rid of his slave-to-be status. _I wonder how Art's doing… _He wanted to smack himself. Why was he thinking of his friend now? He was probably being whipped somewhere by that other frog, if not drowned or dead, or was slaving away into madness… Alfred felt himself turning deeply concerned and angered. _Cut it out, it wouldn't be his type letting himself being ordered around, beaten or killed…would it? No, he's too headstrong for that. Arthur…_

-Like, excuse me, sir.

The slave on sale jumped up and got snatched from his deep thought. In front of him stood a taller-than-average man. He had straight, chin-length blonde hair, green, striking eyes, was very slightly tanned and was dressed in a long, red tunic with golden buttons, had pointy leather shoes and a beautiful belt decorated with golden rings, a round, furry hat with a long feather standing up straight but slightly bent downwards at the tips. He also had a red cape with furry edges covering his whole back.

Alfred noticed right next to that well-dressed stranger another man, this time with brown, longer hair and innocent blue eyes. He had a worried yet gentle expression on his face. He was dressed similarly to his blonde friend, but instead of a red complet his was blue, and his tunic was long, fancy, buttoned in gold and sleeveless with a furry contour; under it he was dressed in a blue and golden patterned shirt that ended at his wrists. To complete the portrait, he also had a matching cape with bits of fur and the same hat as his friend. Both men, who were slightly older than Alfred, possessed an armed scabbard at their belts. Alfred was stunned at how they lived through the heat so well in all that fur on their backs and stuffy velvet clothing. He, who was dressed in torn clothes, was near fainting.

Robert, who suddenly seemed to revive, leaped (yes, Alfred saw right, _leaped_) towards the two strangers that didn't look like they were French. He tried to guess where they came from, but couldn't. The slave trader put on a real big smile on his pudgy face and asked them in the sweetest voice Alfred ever heard.

-My two honorable _messieurs_, how may I help you?

The brown-haired one replied in a calm, somewhat sad tone with a strong foreign accent:

-Well, you see… we want to get a new helper in our propriety, for our previous one has died of pneumonia a few days ago. We heard from a friend that you always have the best slaves, and so we journeyed all the way from our country to France.

-That's totally right, replied the blonde man in red, as politely as what he said could sound.

Alfred was looking at the duo, utterly confused. They definitely weren't French, nor were they English. So who were they? He was secretly praying inside of him for them not to be Spanish or something, otherwise his life would be at the ultimate bottom of misery.

-How misfortunate! You must have been heartbroken, haven't you?

-Yes, like, indeed. He was totally the best friend of Toris and I, said the blonde man, a bit more quietly this time.

-I see… and where do you two honorable _messieurs_ hail from?

-We came all the way from the Kingdom of Poland and Grand Duchy of Lithuania…

Robert's saliva got stuck deeply in his throat and he started to choke. These two well-dressed vandals were from _that_ Kingdom of Poland and Grand Duchy of Lithuania? In an effort to stop strangling, he breathed in several times and spoke again, calmly:

-You two come from the Kingdom of Po…

-We, like, already told you so, _monsieur_, answered the blonde man in his strange accent.

Alfred was also shocked. He had heard many stories about that Kingdom, about its rising power, and he feared the worse: power means money, money means rich people; rich people equal authority and authority meant he was going to be treated like an old sick dog. A loud cry of desperation echoed in his mind.

-Indeed, you did! Well then, I have _just 'ze right_ slave for you two! Here!

And he smashed Alfred's back bones with a herculean fist. The slave stifled a tempting yelp of pain, much to the two men's worry.

-Z'iz man here is ze strongest one I have! He can carry over 300 pounds of just about anyz'ing, and has excellent health and straight from a faraway land!

_I agree on the second part; although I'm not so sure you were honest on the first one, you mangy hypocrite_, thought Alfred, still recovering from the blow he received on his poor back. He noted that if he'd have to stay with that madman any longer, he'd have his bones shattered in a matter of days if he were to demonstrate his endurance by getting hit on the spine.

The brown-haired man, now closer to Alfred, was listening carefully as his other friend observed the slave from every angle (not literally, he was just quickly moving around him, wanting to see if the slave trader's words were true). At the end of the inspection, he turned to the man in blue and said something in a foreign language that sounded like gibberish to both Alfred and Robert. _What if, in reality, they're Russian…? I'm doomed! _

Finally, their conversation finished, the red-dressed blonde turned happily to Robert with a sachet.

-We shall, like, totally take him. Here are your 300 _écus_.

Robert de la Haie's eyes glittered brightly as the small money-packed bag landed in the palm of his hand with a satisfying and ear-tingling _Ching._

-_Mille merci, messieurs_, you shall not regret z'it!

With that, he grabbed Alfred's chain and passed it to the two men, who took it uneasily. They hesitated for a moment, but finally walked away after thanking Robert in return. Alfred's mind was lost. _They seem like they've never held a slave before… now how can that be if they're so filthy rich? _

As if someone read his mind, the dressed in red man turned to him and seemed to reply _We're not money-loving bastards, for your, like, information._

The trio walked through town until they got outside of it in the fields. There stood a (ever so fancy) coach-and-four with a man waiting and holding onto the reins sleepily, and Alfred guessed he had been waiting for a few hours. The green-eyed man stepped forward and opened the carriage's door by pulling on its golden handle. His friend let Alfred get in first and the two sat down, facing each other. The man in red got on, ordered the driver something in his weird language and they set off. When they were finally at a certain distance, he couldn't bare it any longer and nearly burst in tears.

-Like, that place was so totally filled with totally scary strangers! I thought I was going to like, die on the spot!

Alfred looked at him, perplexed, as the brunet tried to comfort him. These two were his new masters from now on, and he was going to live the rest of his life somewhere deeper in this continent. Oh joy.

**Notes: **

**Boy does it feel good to finish a long chapter! Anyway, I'll start with translations as usual, here goes.**

**-**_**Vous n'allez vraiment point manger? **_**(French)-You really aren't going to eat at all?**

**-**_**Si vous voulez bien nous suivre, monsieur. **__**Le capitaine vous attend. **_**(French)-If you would please like to follow us, sir. The captain is waiting for you.**

**-**_**mon cher ami**_** (French)-my dear friend**

**-**_**pourquoi **_**(French)-why**

**-**_**Mes amis **_**(French)-My friends**

**-**_**Esclaves à vendre! Venez voir mes esclaves, tous sont forts et en excellente santé, et à bas prix! **_**(French)-Slaves for sale! Come see my slaves, all are strong and are in excellent health, and cost cheaply!**

**Now, on with the explanations. The **_**écu**_** was French money back in those days, and I have absolutely no clue its worth if turned into US or CAN dollars, sorry. **

**I know, I know, small FrUS moment, for all of you Francis lovers… heheh… **

**So yes, Nantes was a trading naval city in the Duchy of Brittany (which later became part of France) where they sold just about everything… including slaves.**

**AND WE FINALLY SEE FELIKS AND TORIS! WOOSH! In this story, they are part of the Polish nobility, or **_**Polska szlachta**_**. The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was created after the Union of Lublin in 1569, and carried on successfully until my country's (Poland) third partition in 1795. Yes, I'm Polish ^ ^, so don't be surprised if there will be some Polish words and phrases in the following chapters. They are wearing noblemen traditional clothes, although I got slightly inspired from an article on Wikipedia and a picture I saw… here's the link:** **.org/wiki/File:Polish_magnates_**

**I thank its writer. I shall also explain the name of the clothing pieces later. **

**And about Polish language… well, every time I speak in it with my parents/Polish friends in public people glare at me like I'm a mental case, walk by and ask: "Say, are you Russian, by any chance?". Hate it. POLISH AND RUSSIAN ARE BOTH SLAVIC LANGUAGES, AND ARE SLIGHTLY SIMILAR, BUT THEY'RE NOT HARD TO DISTINGUISH, BELIEVE ME. **

**Hope you enjoyed and chapter 7 will be out in a few days ^ ^. **


	7. Chapter 7: Wondering and the Sly Plan

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter VII: Wondering and the Sly Plan

Alfred Williams Jones gazed outside at the French fields as sunlight penetrated the coach. They have been driving for two hours, and it was only the start of a chilly evening.

He was now a slave, sold for 300 _écus_ to two rich men from the Kingdom of Poland and Grand Duchy of Lithuania, or whoever they really were, and on his way to a life filled with misery and hard work. The most heartbreaking thing was that he had no idea if his brother Matthew was in the same situation as he was. His gentle, quiet, shy and sensitive twin, with whom he was strongly tied, taken by a Spanish tomato-loving pirate and taken God knows where, never to be seen again. And his other very close friend, the captain of his ship, Arthur Kirkland, the strict yet kind English pirate-privateer, whom saved him and Matthew from certain death.

_Please, just do not meet with Ivan Braginski. _Those were one of the last words Alfred heard before he and Arthur got parted in different directions, probably forever. Ivan Braginski, who was he, exactly? Alfred guessed he was Russian, considering the name. But Arthur never had any Russian pirate rival, as far as Alfred was concerned…

Now, his friend could be at the other end of the world, dead, or working his life out, completely hopeless and with no one to depend on helping him. Maybe now, at that very moment, he was desperately calling for help, with only the wind to answer him back…

-Is everything alright?

Alfred, surprised, turned to the brown-haired man with blue eyes, whom was handing him a tissue. He was even more stunned when he realized tears were flowing down his face, pricking his eyes. He reached out for the white handkerchief and wiped the tears with a smile.

-Yes, you could say so…

The other man with blonde hair and grass-green eyes looked at him.

-I, like, so don't believe you.

-Well, too bad for you, you spoiled xenophobic nobleman.

He froze when he realized his mistake. That was it. _Nice way of showing respect, genius_. _Why do I always say the wrong things at the wrong time?_ The fresh country air suddenly tensed up to the point Alfred was convinced he was going to choke. Just when he thought he was going to receive his first slave beating since he got thrown off another ship seven years ago, the man sitting in front of him burst out laughing. Alfred's expression must have been really confused to the point of being comic, for the man next to the blonde one also started laughing, and the two were holding each other by their ribs.

When they finally calmed down, they were tearing.

-See, Toris, said the blonde man, I totally told you that those Anglophones were, like, purely hilarious!

-I know! replied Toris. It is the first time we had laughed since _Michał _died! God bless his soul. Well, I guess we're becoming attached to you already!

The two turned to their "slave", who was still utterly shocked.

-You guys… aren't going to beat me, whip me, anything at all?

-Beat you? Why should we do that kind of things?

-Well, I am your slave; I guess that's how you treat them in your kingdom…

The blonde's fist hit the red cushiony seat.

-This is an outrage! Our country has forbidden slavery in the last century! In Lithuania also, a few decades ago!

Alfred could see he was serious, for his way of speaking became normal, without any "like" or "totally". The man in red calmed down and removed an annoying fringe away from his left green eye.

-Beside that point, we totally don't even know who you are, and vice versa. I am Polish nobleman Feliks Łukasiewicz (pronounced _Wook-a-shie-vitch_), 20 years old. Present yourself, Tori.

"Tori" slightly flushed at the nickname, but did as Feliks had asked.

-My name is Toris Laurinaitis, and I was born in Lithuania from a noble family, just like my friend Feliks. Our families were close for quite a long time, and our fathers wanted the two of us to share their lands in Poland after their death. And so, we inherited them, and since then we live there, near _Sandomierz_.

-And what is that Sandomiedge?

Feliks grinned.

-It's pronounced _San-do-mierz_, and it's a totally important town in our Commonwealth!

-I see. Sorry for the bad pronunciation, I don't speak… umm…

-Polish? finished Toris.

-That's right.

-We understand that perfectly. But tell us, who are you, if we may know?

Alfred spent the whole rest of the evening talking about his life, as the coach rode deeper into the night. He had to cut his story, for his two new friends would shoot questions every time there would be a tragic moment told. It was already a late hour, but Alfred finally finished.

-B'aaaaaaaaaaaaaw, you totally poor thing! So poor little Alfred got separated from the crew, huh? Don't worry; we totally won't treat you like you used to be.

The coach suddenly said something in Polish and both Feliks and Toris answered back.

-Can I ask what's wrong?

-Oh, nothing really important, Toris said, sitting back on the red seat, our coach, _Karol_, just said that he has spotted an inn, and since it is already nightfall, we shall stay there. I heard it is dangerous to travel in France at night.

After the coach driver ordered the horses to stop with a _Prrrrrrrr_, the three men stepped out (this time with a chainless Alfred) and walked towards the large wooden door. Above it was a board on which was written: _La Taverne du Bon Samaritain sur Saint-Michel de Tours_.

_Boy do these frogs call their inns normal names,_ thought Alfred sarcastically. Before Feliks could knock, Toris held him back.

-Wait, Feliks! We must do something about Alfred!

The blonde man seemed to understand what his friend was trying to say.

-You're right; Alfred, you are Protestant, am I right?

Alfred nodded.

-If they find out, they might kill you. Got any ideas, Toris?

The Lithuanian thought for a while and replied.

-We will say that he is Catholic, but that he cannot speak…

-And why should we pretend that he is mute, Tori?

-If he doesn't know French and only English, they will conclude that he is Protestant, Feliks.

-So? We speak English, and we aren't Protestants!

Toris nearly slapped himself on the forehead.

-Does he _look_ like us, from a faraway Catholic kingdom, without any offense?

Alfred was gazing from one man to the other, puzzled. It was already dark out, and the air was chillier than ever. Finally, he spoke up.

-Fine; I'll pretend to be mute and Catholic, now can we please knock and get some sleep?

His two new masters quit arguing and agreed. Toris knocked thrice and waited. After a minute or two, the door opened with a bone-chilling screech, and in the opening appeared the face of a corpulent woman. She was pretty old, for her hair was already grey and pulled back all the way in a bun. Her dark eyes glanced rapidly at each one of the three men, and asked them in a grouchy tone:

-_Que voulez-vous à cette heure de la nuit, messieurs? _

The Pole and Lithuanian engaged in a conversation which was as gibberish as the Polish language for Alfred. Feliks pointed at him, and he figured he was saying that he couldn't speak. The lady would put on some strange faces, glance at Alfred, sometimes smile and finally agreed on letting them stay.

-_Merci, Madame_, ended Feliks after bowing and tipping his furry hat almost to the ground. The older lady chuckled and disappeared.

Alfred bent down to the blonde man's ear and asked in the quietest tone ever:

-So? Can we stay?

-Most definitely. I even think she totally took a liking to you, Alfred…

-Feliks!

-Well, like what, Toris? You saw with your own eyes how she was looking at him with that smile.

Alfred sighed. First it was Arthur, and then it was that French frog and now the lady…

_Hold on. Arthur? Why DID I JUST THINK LIKE THAT! _

Feliks, Toris, Alfred and _Karol _the coach driver were all sitting in the French tavern, eating their meal prepared by _Madame Laferouche_, the innkeeper. Next to it was a barn, and they got permission on letting their four white horses stay in there along with the carriage.

They had soup, another thing called _foie gras_, some bread and veal. Madam Laferouche was walking around, serving and asking if they needed anything. Alfred regretted slightly pretending to be mute, for he couldn't ask for anything else. And the innkeeper would discreetly wink at him, causing him to nearly choke on his food from the nasty shock. _God, why…_

Madam Laferouche, after the meal was eaten, took the four men to their rooms on the first floor. It was a small place with four beds, each one against one of the four walls. One of them was near the window. In the middle was a round red carpet, and under the beds were night pots.

-_Bonne nuit, mes chers messieurs. Lorsque vous vous réveillerez demain, n'hésitez pas à sonner la clochette sur la table. _

-_Bonne nuit, et merci pour votre hospitalité, madame Laferouche_, replied kindly Toris.

After the lady left with a small giggle, Feliks took off his cape and sword and leaped on the bed right next to him.

-Waaaaaaaah, this bed is, like, so totally comfortable! They should really make some like these in Poland!

-_Masz rację_, said _Karol _joyfully, their forty-year old coach driver, finally able to rest.

-What did he say?

Toris looked at Alfred, who could finally break his "handicap".

-He said "You're right". We figured we would have to teach you Polish once we get to our home.

His new English friend looked exasperated, but managed to smile.

-Well then, let's like go to sleep! We still have a totally long way ahead!

Alfred lay on his bed, which was the one next to the slightly opened window. He loved the night, when everything was peaceful and quiet. Of course, he preferred daylight, but this one time it was the contrary. An astonishing shining sky covered the world, lulling all of its inhabitants into a deep sleep. In a matter of minutes, Alfred could already hear the light, gentle breaths of his new masters (although they didn't feel easy being called that). He looked through the window, the moonlight fondling his face. Again, he was lost in his thoughts. What was Matthew doing? Where on earth was he right now? And what about Arthur? Was he still alive? _That frog of a Charles better not do anything to him, or else…_ And again, Alfred caught himself having that thought. _Art…_

A little tear pearled down his cheek as his consciousness slowly faded away.

-_À la claaaaaaire fontaine, m'en allant promeneeeeer… hic!_

Charles was prancing around with a full glass of wine along with his own men, having their tenth or eleventh drink along with some strong rum. Ever since they got new slaves from Antonio along with the English ship, they have been partying every night, drinking, playing cards and flirting with the terrified captive women after throwing the anchor near land.

_I cannot _believe _what they have done to my ship…_

In the middle of the scared flock of captives all gathered in the furthest corner of the room, Arthur was massaging the bridge of his nose angrily. This hurt him, but he didn't care a single bit. He wanted to jump on Charles and skin him alive. That frog had devoured almost all of their provisions, had spent a quarter of their entire money buying drinks in naval towns and had harassed the captives and some members of his ex-crew. Charles even dared lay harshly a finger on Peter, which caused Arthur to attack him and, in return, he received a severe lashing. Even after five days, his back was still sore every time he'd try to lie down and sleep.

The young captain had it over his head. In that short while, he had developed a plan. They could kill him if he'd fail, nevertheless, it was better than having to get beaten every night and see others bearing the same fate.

Under the horrified watch of his fellow captives, Arthur Kirkland got up, still in pain from the beating and healing scars he had, and walked up to Charles and his men, who were singing drunken versions of some French songs. It was now or never.

-My dear friends, is this what you call _fun_ back in good old France?

They stopped singing and looked at him with sleepy yet crazed eyes. Charles stood up, wobbled a bit doing so and asked:

-You know hic! better wayz' of having some fuuuuun?... hic!

Arthur would have given anything to not have breathed in at that moment. All the mixed alcohol went up his nostrils and into his brain and lungs, choking him.

-Indeed I do. How boring is it to have a party in a ship with all of your captives here? Why not go outside, into the busy town, where there are dozens of gorgeous little creatures waiting for men like you _messieurs_?

Seven pairs of shining eyes glared at him maliciously. Charles smiled wickedly.

-Z'ere is a town nearby, you say? Filled with innocent little virgins?

-Of course there is! _Everybody _knows that!

Arthur seemed very happy and enthusiastic on leading them there; but on the inside, he wanted to swallow back everything he just said, he was so scared of his plan failing. A warm droplet of sweat pearled down his right temple.

-Well z'en, we are following you, captain, hic!

His men roared in agreement, drowning the miserable Arthur in a cloud of alcohol. He marched drowsily towards the door that lead to the deck, followed by Charles and the rest of the Frenchman's crew, along with Brendon Carlson and Jack Sanders, whom he made a sign to follow him. The fresh night breeze swiftly flew though his blonde hair, and his emerald green eyes scattered the piece of land hundreds of feet away. He walked towards the emergency escape boat, and after everyone got placed in the boat, Carlson and Sanders lowered it until it touched the sea and Arthur started rowing.

-Say, you English imbe-hic!-cile, I don't see any lights or anyzing, hic!

-That's because they do not like showing that they are there; they want men to come to them, without having to show themselves. They are very keen and capricious women.

-Well, 'zat is certainly a strange method, hic!

Arthur smirked to himself in the dark. Everything (for now) was going smoothly.

They finally accosted on the sand and all of the men climbed out, singing loudly. Charles wanted to run, but nearly tumbled down.

-So, where are z'ose virgins you were talking about, hic?

-They will come to you once you are asleep, never when you are awake, replied Arthur with a hint of slyness in his voice.

Charles clapped his hands twice to get his crew's attention.

-Alright, _messieurs_! Everyone go to sleep, NOW!

Needless to say, once their heads touched the ground, a chorus of snores echoed in the night. Arthur quietly walked back to the boat after taking back his old red pirate hat resting on Charles' head. He rowed back to the _Lady of Atlantis_, where he was greeted by Brendon and Jack. He triumphantly marched down the stairs. His captives were looking at him; their mouths open to a considerable size.

-D-Did it work aru?

Arthur remained silent. But that silence was interrupted by his long unheard laugh.

-Did it work? Oh, you better believe it worked, Yao! They bought every single bit of it!

And he laughed on, soon joined by his crew and the captives.

The next morning, after the whole ship got cleaned from the empty bottles of wine and rum and beer, Arthur commanded the anchor to be lifted. He could still see Charles and his men lying on the sand, sleeping soundly. _They will surely have a killing headache once they shall be awake, but at least I left them on an island that is crossing paths with many other ships. Well, cheerio, Charles! _

And he directed the ship away from that island. Now, his only life goal was to find what has been lost. Alfred, most of all.

**Notes:**

**Heheh, I pity Charles a bit ^ ^. But who cares, here I will start the notes wth translations.**

**-**_**Michał **_**(Polish name)-Equivalent of **_**Michael **_

**-**_**Sandomierz **_**(Polish)-It was indeed one of the most important and larger towns in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. That is where some of Poland's most important historical monuments were built, like the Sandomierz castle, the Jan Długosz house and the Collegium Gostomianum. **

**-**_**Prrrrrrrr **_**(Polish)-Verbal way of making the horses stop, equivalent of English **_**Whoa! **_

**-**_**La Taverne du Bon Samaritain sur Saint-Michel de Tours **_**(French)-Name I made up, unless it really exists somewhere in France, means « **_**The Tavern of the Good Samaritan on Saint Michael of Tours **_**»**

-_**Que voulez-vous à cette heure de la nuit, messieurs? **_**(French)-What do you an tat this time of night, gentlemen?**

**-** _**Bonne nuit, mes chers messieurs. Lorsque vous vous réveillerez demain, n'hésitez pas à sonner la clochette sur la table. **_**(French)-Good night, my dear men. When you will wake up tomorrow, do not hesitate ringing the little bell on the table.**__

-_**Bonne nuit, et merci pour votre hospitalité, madame Laferouche. **_**(French)-Good night, and thank you for your hospitality, madame Laferouche.**

**-**_**À la claire fontaine, m'en allant promener… **_**(French)-Traditional French song that is said to have been written in the 15th-16th century, maybe later, but I decided that it existed in 1594 ^ ^. This bit of the song means: « **_**The clear fountain, to which I went walking…**_**»**

**And so, Arthur is back in action! Yahoo! Had fun writing his little plan, a lot of it. **

**Now, considering the part of the story which we are at now, it seems this will be the longest one I'd have ever written… but oh well, I really enjoy writing it, lets me forget the world… **

**So yes, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and the new one will come out soon, this week maybe (if, again, I don't have much homework or anything)! **


	8. Chapter 8: New Life in the Far East

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter VIII: New Life in the Far East

After the night filled with thoughts of his friend, Alfred was still asleep, even after Feliks and Toris tried waking him up seven times.

-Come on, Alfred, it's already early morn!

Toris begged him, shaking his friend's shoulder more frantically by the minute.

Finally, they gave up. Feliks shook the dust off his sleeves and crossed his arms, pouting.

-It won't work, Tori. We totally got to find something… aha!

And before the Lithuanian could stop him, a loud bell ring echoed in Alfred's ear. The result was instant. Followed by a cry of surprise and pain.

-**WHY DID YOU DO THAT? Do you know how much my ears hurt right now?**

After realizing what he just did, he gasped, blocking his mouth with his hands a bit too late.

-Oh, faggot…

-_Est-ce que tout va bien, messieurs?_

Toris cursed in his native language.

-Madame Laferouche… _Oui, tout va bien, madame, c'était juste mon ami qui se pratiquait à parler l'anglais!_

-_Ah, d'accord; je serai là-haut dans une minute! _

-She said she'll be here in a minute.

-What excuse did you give her, Toris? asked a terrified Alfred.

-I told her that Feliks… was practicing his English.

-And she believed you?

Toris gave a (surprisingly for his personality) sly smile.

-Of course she did.

-_Nous vous sommes totalement reconnaissants, Madame Laferouche, _said Feliks, slurring in every syllabe of his phrase.

The old lady chuckled loudly, blushing, much to the four men's slight horror.

-_Oh, c'était un honneur d'accueillir de tels hommes dans ma petite taverne! __J'espère que nos chemins se croiseront encore…_

And she winked maliciously at Alfred, who thought that, in a matter of seconds, his breakfast would get out after being eaten.

_Karol_ took out the horses along with the carriage and, after having them fed, all of them climbed onto it and drove off, hoping to never again set foot in that tavern (unless it were only for the comfortable beds).

_If only Mattie were here to see what just happened! He would've had the laugh of his life... wonder where the guy is…_

A small slap in the back stopped him in his tracks. It was Feliks.

-So, _Alfredusiu_, you better consider yourself, like, totally lucky that Tori has brains, because otherwise you'd be tortured right now in the nearest town. And remember; that's how you'll be woken up if you won't wake up after the first morning call.

He was looking at him strictly. His amused green eyes lost all of their brightness, making him look like an emotionless killer.

-F-Feliks…, stuttered Toris and Alfred, clearly terrified by the Pole's sudden personality change.

Then, a loud, a bit obnoxious laugh calmed them down.

-Hahahahaha! You should've, like, totally seen your faces! Hahahaha!

And that struck Alfred's mind. Somehow, Feliks acted the same way Arthur would sometimes. He would act furious, and then crack up laughing, revealing a pearly white smile, along with shining emerald green eyes as deep as the sea…

_Somethin's wrong with me. Really. And why am I fantasizing like that? And about ARTHUR, of all people… _

After a week of traveling, the carriage finally arrived in the "magnificent European united countries". Alfred would spend every single day looking out the window at the never-ending golden fields, at the passing carts filled with rye and hay, at the rivers, lakes and colorful towns. Although people all around him would speak Polish, he was getting used to it pretty quickly.

As they were crossing a road in the countryside, Alfred saw from afar a little brown block, which was most probably a house.

-I see you have spotted your new home? asked Toris, smiling.

-That's your house?

-Like, of course it is, replied Feliks, with a fake insulted tone.

Alfred popped his head out more and narrowed his eyes in order to see well (he had noticed that he and his brother Matthew had a weaker view than anyone else since they were children). It was made of three sections; two smaller ones and one big piece between the two other ones, and all three had a red tiled roof. The rather big house was made of solid-looking brown-red bricks, giving it an important and resistant appearance. It was surrounded by lush green bushes and flowers of all sorts, especially red poppies. The house possessed a chimney, two windows on the side sections and three on the middle one, along with a wooden door. From Alfred's point of view, behind the house stood a barn, a well and a large, abundant field of rye, which the sun reflected in its bright color.

-So… we're already in Sandomiegre?

-Yes, we arrived in _Sandomierz_, corrected him Toris.

-Sorry…

-This place is… really huge.

Alfred admired the house in front of him with awe. He never thought he'd live in such a big house, especially not one in a Slavic land.

-Well, this is where you'll be staying, said the Pole and Lithuanian, pleased.

-Do you guys live alone in there?

Toris blushed lightly.

-Well, no… we have our servants, _Karol_ and… and…

-His _girlfriend_, whispered Feliks, leaning towards Alfred, his hand hiding his smiling mouth sideways as if it were a big secret.

-That's not true! Feliks, _ty_ _kłamco_!

The blonde scowled.

-You're the liar here, Tori. You _know_ you love her… don't you?

Toris turned as red as the numerous poppies in front of the house.

-Just stop it…

-I was just kidding, Toris. Don't worry; I'm sure Alfred will keep it a secret!

Alfred smiled in agreement, not quite understanding. The Pole took his two friends by the arms and dragged him towards the main door. He opened it and walked into the house.

The inside was as magnificent as the outside; there were paintings all over the walls (which some were painted in a very, very light red, almost pink), the wooden floor was sparkling clean, a few exotic plants were standing proudly in some of the rooms, a huge wooden staircase led to the first and second floors, and the sunlight passing through the windows enlightened the atmosphere so much Alfred already felt like home.

_Only thing missing here is my crew… _

He suddenly felt pushed by an enormous force and pinned to the ground. Panicked, he tried to get back on his feet, but failed at it, and closed his eyes out of instinctive fear.

-Help!

Something big and wet slid up his cheek many times. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw a huge orange and black ball of fur on him, licking playfully his face.

-What is this!

Feliks and Toris burst out laughing before taking the colossal dog off of Alfred.

-Meet _Azor_, our hunting dog, introduced Toris Alfred to the gentle beast, you have no need to worry. He wouldn't touch a hare unless he'd be ordered to do so.

-I see that, mumbled out the Englishman, receiving one last lick from Azor.

-_Вы__вярнуліся_!

A female voice with a slight pitch ringed in the men's ears. They all turned around and Toris let out a small almost inaudible gasp.

-_N-Natalia…_

Alfred looked at the young woman standing in front of them. She had long, shining light blonde hair with a white knotted ribbon serving as a headband, fair skin, and pretentious-looking blue eyes. She was wearing a puffy-sleeved navy blue dress decorated with ribbons that went to her knee with a white apron at her waist and black stockings and shoes on her small feet.

Alfred glanced at Toris, who seemed to have been turned to stone. After looking closer, he was all red, his eyes set on the (very pretty) girl.

Feliks finally spoke up after bringing the Lithuanian back to Earth.

-Alfred, this is our Belarusian friend _Natalia Arlovskaya_, whom moved here from the Eastern part of the Kingdom. _Natalia_, meet Alfred, our new servant.

She looked at him, eyes filled with wariness. That look sent nasty chills down poor Alfred's back. _She's… kind of creepy… _Wanting to ease the atmosphere, he took out his hand, waiting for the Belarusian woman to do the same and shake hands. She glared confusingly at him, without saying a word. Feliks noticed that, leaned to Alfred's ear and whispered as quietly as he could:

-I don't know how you do it in England, but here, we kiss the lady's hand.

-Oh, I see!

And so he did but a bit too harshly, causing Natalia to pull back her hand angrily. He got up and looked at Toris, and he saw a murderer's thirst for kill in his usually peaceful light green eyes.

-It's… very nice to meet you, Natalia…

The girl looked at him indifferently.

-The same is for me, she replied coldly, leaving the room.

Alfred turned to Feliks, and nearly choked from the surprise. The blond man was holding the Lithuanian by the waist, who was trying to grab Alfred by the neck.

-What's wrong with him?

-He's just, like, jealous, no biggy…

-I am not, Feliks!

-_Torys, uspokój się, __**natychmiast**__! _

The man calmed down, finally returning to his normal state.

-I'm sorry, it's just…

-… you totally love her, even if she like already broke your fingers three times, finished the Pole, letting go of his friend.

-Feli…

-Dinner is ready, said calmly Natalia from the kitchen.

Alfred looked at the strange soup served to him. First of all, it was poured inside _cupped bread_, as if it were a bowl. The liquid had a yellowish-green color, pieces of meat at the bottom and halved eggs floating.

_And I'm gonna have to eat this every single day until they decide to free me? This is nuts! _

-Are you going to eat?

-Before I do… what is this?

-That is, my totally dear little Anglophone friend, _żurek_, traditional Polish soup. It comes served in a normal bowl or in holed rye bread, as you see it now. Eat up, or your capital will become Warsaw.

Alfred looked at his share, took the wooden spoon bravely, dipped it in the *what's its name again?* and gulped it down his throat, under the curious look of Feliks, Toris, Natalia and Karol.

-It's actually pretty good, he replied, much to their relief.

-We're glad you like it. Now, eat it and we shall get the roasted duck, said Toris, taking a sip from his spoon.

The sea roared, shaking the ship back and forth so violently it nearly tipped over. Arthur tried to gain control of the wheel, and managed to prevent the ship from going nose first into the sea. He had been on the ocean for over five days, starting to search for Alfred and, if possible, for Matthew.

_Knowing the frog mentality, Alfred must have been sold and taken by a group of rich people, but where is he now? Definitely not in France, that's all I know certainly. They might be anywhere, but I guess I'll start looking in the most unexpected areas; such as that new route traveled by that Portuguese fellow… But please, God, don't let that man lay his hands on Alfred…_

-Aiyaah, captain! Where are we heading to, aru?

Arthur turned dramatically to Yao Wang, the newly-named chef of the _Lady of Atlantis_.

-To Africa, that's where we're going!

**Notes:**

**Translations first ^ ^:**

**-**_**Est-ce que tout va bien, messieurs? **_**(French) =Is everything alright, gentlemen?**

**-**_**Nous vous sommes totalement reconnaissants**_ **(French) =We are totally grateful to you**

**-**_**Oh, c'était un honneur d'accueillir de tels hommes dans ma petite taverne! **__**J'espère que nos chemins se croiseront encore **_**(French) =Oh, it was an honor to take in such men in my little tavern! I hope our paths shall cross again **

**-**_**Alfredusiu **_**(Polish) =Polish way of nicknaming someone by the name of Alfred, another example is "Petey" for Peter.**

**-**_**Azor **_**(Polish) =Very popular name for dogs in Poland, right after **_**Burek**_**, similar to "Fido" or "Rover". Here, Azor is a Polish Hunting Dog, or Polish Scenthound, large black and orange dogs that look almost like Rottweilers. **

**-**_**Вы**____**вярнуліся**___**(Belarusian) =You're back**

**-**_**Torys, uspokój się, natychmiast **_**(Polish) =Toris, calm down, his instant! **

**The **_**żurek **_**is indeed sometimes served in bowled bread, and believe me, it's very good… I love it. **

**Okay, now's the time for small notes. **

**The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth had people from different nationalities, for it was one of the most tolerating countries of that time, although it changed a few years later. The population had Poles, Lithuanians, Belarusians, and Ukrainians and so on. So, don't be surprised if I placed Belarus here. I also made Toris a bit more protective of her, that pairing is so cute ^ / ^.**

**The Portuguese fellow Arthur was talking about was Vasco de Gama, who discovered the passage from Europe to India (win win for him). **

**Next chapter in a few days, and there will be lots more action than now… hope you enjoyed ^ ^**


	9. Chapter 9: Caught in the Same Net

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter IX: Caught in the Same Net

**Alright, dear friends! Now time for some REAL action to start! **

***yawns* Has everyone enjoyed so far? I mean, already nine chapters in only, what, three weeks? **

Alfred sat gently on one of the expensive-looking red cushiony couches in his masters' house. It was a bright sunny afternoon, and the room was bathed in the sun's light. Extending his arm and leaning forwards, he scratched the back of _Azor_'s ear, and the sleeping dog let out a happy growl. It didn't sleep peacefully for long, however; two three-year-old children leaped on it, wanting to play. The dog didn't harm them, instead licked their bright little faces.

-_Tadek, Andrzej, zostawcie tego psa w spokoju._

Toris walked slowly towards his two sons and picked them up, in an attempt to save the already old Scenthound.

Alfred smiled to himself. It has been already three years since he arrived in this house, after being sold to a Pole and a Lithuanian in Nantes, France. And it has been also three years since he got separated from his twin Matthew, his crew from the _Lady of Atlantis. And three years since I last saw his green eyes. Wonder what that old man is doing now. _

Odd thing was, that question has crossed his mind literally every single day, and the image of Arthur Kirkland was haunting him at every moment. _I guess that's what those oldies call "deep nostalgia"_. He felt his azure eyes get wet. Alfred discreetly wiped them, pretending to have something in his eye. Unfortunately for him, one of the Lithuanian-Belarusian children, _Andrzej_, saw through his little trick and tugged on his sleeve after being put back on the ground by Toris.

-What's w'ong, Uncle Alfred? he asked in an angelic and innocent tone with a slight accent.

Alfred looked at the child. _Andrzej_ reminded him of himself as a child, doing the same to Arthur if he'd ever feel the same way as he was now. He smiled his best smile.

-_Absolutnie nic, Andrzejku_, he replied in a forced cheerful tone, messing with the boy's blonde inherited hair.

_Andrzej_'s blue eyes met Alfred's, incredulous, but didn't bother changing Uncle's response. Instead, he stood on his toes, wanting a horseback ride from him, soon followed by _Tadeusz_.

-We're soldiers flom the Polish _husariaaa_!

Alfred, although he felt silly imitating a human pony in front of his bread giver, marched around the room on his four limbs, laughing along. He remembered how he would always climb to the crow's nest early in the morning (at times, when he wasn't dead tired) and would sit there with Arthur watching the breathtaking rising sun. He was such a child back then, even though he was in his teens. Arthur would always be quiet and reserved near him, but after some time he'd open up and even start laughing. That laugh… so strong, so heartwarming, Alfred replayed it in his mind, along with all of the moments he spent with the captain. They were like accomplices, along with Matthew and their two other friends, Carlson and Sanders. _Those were the golden days…_he thought. He noticed a half-inch wide puddle on the wooden floor.

Natalia entered the room, carrying some bread for her children. Since she married Toris, whom she hated when she moved to this house, she softened considerably. It was now the contrary to the past: now, _she_ was the one wanting to rip someone's throat if a lady would glance at her dear Lithuanian husband. Of course, Toris would never look at another woman, but, to stay on the safe side, Natalia even threatened one once with her kitchen knife she always carried with around in her apron pocket. That would always make Feliks and Alfred grin.

To say it briefly, Alfred felt as if he were on his old ship. The people would never lay a finger on him, even if he'd spill the Christmas _barszcz_ on the new white table cloth or do a mistake in pronouncing a Polish word. Speaking of Polish, he learnt the language pretty quickly (under the strict teaching of Feliks and Toris), but still had some problems with syntactic.

What he _didn't_ know was that the Roman Catholic powers would regain control over Poland and that Polish tolerance towards Protestants slightly lowered in some regions.

It was already a late hour in the night. You could hear a symphony made of unseen grasshoppers with their sweet music, joined by a choir of frogs in the fresh night breeze.

Alfred, however, wasn't in his calmest of moods. He was sitting near the fireplace with Feliks, Toris and Natalia, while _Andrzej _and_ Tadeusz _were soundly sleeping up the stairs.

-We have to do something about you, Alfred, whispered Toris in Polish, we know very well that, God forbid, they shall probably act the same as in France against you. And we really don't want anything to happen like that.

-Tori's absolutely totally right. Hiding won't do, for you are very clearly a recognizable English man. And, like, to them, England equals Protestants. And that, in return, means death for you.

-That ain't helping me, Feliks, said Alfred, for the first time worried to the point of having a stomachache since his separation from Arthur.

-Then that leaves only one option…

Alfred swallowed his gathered saliva.

-The only option for me is to leave for England, right?

The house owners nodded sadly.

-It is the only way, and you shall be safe there. From what I have heard from _Karol_, your Queen is powerful enough to stop this religious madness, assured him Toris hurryingly.

-Let us hope so, sighed Natalia, after stifling a yawn. But darling, the children will never forgive us for that…

Toris looked painfully at his wife. They both knew that their sons were strongly attached to Alfred, whom has been with them since they were born. Sometimes, they would call him _tata_, much to Toris' despair.

-We don't have much of a choice, _Natalia_. I suggest that we drive him to the North, up to the Baltic Sea, where he shall take a ship to Denmark and from there he will sail to England.

-Why not like simply take the route through the totally Holy Roman Empire? That's becoming their official religion, you know.

The Lithuanian-Belarusian couple looked at the Pole, desperate.

-Because then he'd be too close to the shores where the religion wars are being held, replied Toris. It would be better for Alfred to stay as far away as possible from land. Plus, there is another war somewhere North-East of France. Clearly, passing through Denmark would be the best solution.

Feliks pouted, but agreed on that.

-Well then, I like guess the only thing left for you to do is to pack, he replied in a chilly tone.

-Yes, I guess so…

To the man's surprise, the Pole threw himself in the Englishman's arms, weeping and crying with a slightly pitched voice.

-Why must you leave? You were, like, totally the best servant we ever had, right after _Michał_! Life is like so unfair! _Łaaaaaaaaaaa_…

-Shut up, Feliks, hushed the Pole Natalia, taking out her knife, ready to cut him if he'd ever dare wake up the children.

Alfred patted his boss's head, surprised at how someone actually cried after him.

-Hey, I won't be gone forever, I mean, after these idiocies of religion wars are over, I'll come back!

-You will?

Feliks rapidly looked up, still hugging Alfred in a suffocating matter, his green eyes glittering from the multiple tears.

-Sure; why wouldn't I?

-Oh, thank you so much, you're so totally the best! I feel like crying all over again…

-I said shut up, or this very knife will end up in your stomach.

His clothes and some food packed, Alfred was sitting at the table with a huge feast in front of him. It was four in the morning, and usually all the servants would be out helping on the farm, but that day all of the activities were cut off. Instead, a small banquet was organized as a farewell party. Alfred was having his last bowl of _żurek, _his last dish of cheese and mashed potato _pierogis_; along with his last ever carp before setting out for Denmark.

-Man, Natalia, you really overworked yourself, this time…

The Belarusian woman glared a bit coldly at him, but replied with a hint of controlled sadness.

-It was worth it.

Alfred climbed as quietly as he could the wooden stairs that led to the boys' bedroom. He opened the door, his breath being cut every time it would screech, but _Andrzej _and_ Tadeusz _showed no sign of waking up. He walked over to the side of the large bed on which the three-tear-olds were sleeping like innocent angels. Their light, calm breaths penetrated their Uncle's ear, and he leaned over to give them a gentle kiss on the cheek. With that, he glanced one last time at them, left the room and closed the door. At that moment, he felt like Kirkland when he was taken away from him and Matthew, and his heart sank deeper than ever.

The Danish ship was being rocked by the North Sea as the clouds cleared from the sky, revealing its blue color. Alfred's eyes reflected everything he saw, leaning on the side of the ship, with his provision bag tied across his chest in order to protect it from some thieving passengers or crewmembers.

-So, you enjoying the ride?

A strong slap in the back caused him to yelp and turn around. It was the captain, a certain Danish fellow called Christensen Densen. From Alfred's first point of view, he seemed loud, obnoxious, very controlling, and strong-willed and filled with (rather annoying) cheerfulness. His blonde hairstyle was the weirdest thing anyone could have ever seen: it parted on the left side of his head and the hair on the right was spiked up. Christensen also had crystal blue eyes, slightly thick brows and a never ending grin on his face. His suit was mostly a leather red coat with red cuffs, a black hat the width of the steering wheel and had, in his possession, a sharp 6-foot-long axe stored safely in his headquarters on the wall.

Alfred smiled, and forced himself to reply in the same exact tone:

-Yes, indeed I am!

The Dane laughed out loud, catching everyone's attention. The other passengers on deck looked at him, a bit pissed of having their loud mouthed captain on board. Alfred tried hiding his face by looking the other way, as if he spotted something interesting. His trick didn't work though, for Christensen's arm wrapped like a snake around his neck, and pulled Alfred to him, laughing loudly in his face.

-So, you'll be my new best friend, eh?

-Sure, why not! _Dammit... this guy's worse than Madame Laferouche... although he is _kind of _amusing…_

_-Ja_! Bjorn, we have a new pal to drink with tonight!

Bjorn Bondevik was one of Christensen's "best of the bestest friends", a calm little Norwegian man dressed in navy blue clothes. He also had blonde hair with a fringe falling over his face on the right while the left part was taken all the way back with a Nordic Cross barrette, dark blue eyes and eyebrows pointed downwards that gave him an arrogated look. He also had this curl that seemed _detached_ from his head, but Alfred couldn't speculate if it were true for there was a blue sailor's hat covering half of it.

Bjorn walked over, looking arrogantly at Christensen.

-Of course, you always find a new man to drink beer with. And then you look so drunk and ugly that even that lady over there is like a jewel compared to you.

He pointed at a scary lady with a hundred moles and wrinkles on her face to the right, careless. _Why did that guy do that for? The captain's gonna kill him!_

But the irritating Danish laugh resonated once more on deck.

-That was too funny, Bjorn! You should really consider getting a job as a joke writer! You'd make a fortune, _ja_!

_Boy is he oblivious… and that was one sharp insult,_ thought Alfred, being dragged away by Christensen along with Bjorn.

Christensen Densen poured clumsily his sixth pint of beer out of the barrel and gulped it down disgustingly with a loud gargle. Bjorn and Alfred were sitting two seats away from him, glaring at each other with understanding.

-So, began the Norwegian, where do you come from?

-Well, I was born in England, I had a twin brother. Both our parents died when we were very young.

-I see… but you don't speak like those Anglophones. It's as if your accent was cut off.

-Yeah, many people have been telling me that… it's the same with Matthew.

-Matthew?

-My brother.

-Oh, I see. And how did you get in Poland?

After telling his story to Bjorn, he took a sip from his beer pint. The Norwegian sighed, his brows less bent down.

-That's misfortunate. You must have really loved that man, am I right?

Alfred choked on his beer.

-Love? Nothing of the sort! It's just that he was a really cool guy with me and Matthew! Just that, really!

He calmed down with a small smile, wanting to convince Bjorn that Arthur wasn't anything more but a good friend. The man with the floating curl looked at him, and drank calmly his beer. Alfred could've sworn he saw a smile floating onto the Norwegian's face.

The passengers' bedrooms were placed on the second floor down from the deck. There was a whole corridor of bedrooms, each having a comfortable bed, a mirror, a closet and, occasionally, a window. Alfred's was at the complete end. After having to lead Christensen back to his headquarters with Bjorn, he got taken to his room and wished good night. After dressing up in less used clothes, he climbed onto the bed and waited until he would fall asleep. He was told they would reach England's coast in one or two days, where they would be safe from religion wars slowly spreading everywhere.

_And hopefully, Arthur decided to go back to the same destination as I did… _Alfred was convinced that his l… I mean friend was already in England, sitting calmly in London about and drinking his daily tea. Yes, he was sure of it.

And then Bjorn's words came into his mind. _You must have really loved that man, am I right?_

-Hmpf. That's absolutely fake. Seriously, a man can't _love_ another man… can he?

On that, he covered his forehead with his hand, utterly confused with everything. If only those Spaniards hadn't attacked the ship, everything would have been perfectly normal and he would have continued living on the ship, fighting on enemy ships, playing tricks and watching sunrises with the captain.

_For the good Lord's sake, why is that always coming back to my mind? Art is a friend, remember that, Alfred, you idiot. _

With that, he slowly fell into a deep sleep, with the waves rocking him and the ship as gently as a mother lulling her child to sleep.

However, roughly three hours later, every single passenger heard a loud noise. They all looked by the window and everyone gasped in complete horror and terror.

There was a Spanish ship shooting canon balls at them.

-WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? yelled out an enraged Christensen, stumbling to the deck with Bjorn trying to hold him down, in vain.

-They're Spanish ships, sir.

-And what on earth are they doing so far in the North Sea?

-I suppose they came from the Spanish army that's having a war with the Seventeen Provinces, sir.

-Well that's just nice! Let me show them to attack my…

Another canon detonated, sending a canon ball right next to the Danish ship. Christensen immediately ordered to raise a white flag in sign of surrender.

-You cannot be serious, Chris! screamed out Alfred, now completely awake and on deck.

Christensen looked at him with a look that stopped him in his tracks.

-If we fight back now, they will kill us for sure. The fact that we're Protestants makes the situation even more dangerous, and none of us would survive if we'd harm their ship.

-Oh, come on! I gotta get to England, and there's _no way _that I'll miss this chance after three whole years!

Alfred wanted to hit the captain, but got retained from doing so by Bjorn and the other crew members. Meanwhile, the Spanish ship approached theirs, holding their fire. They could hear cheerful cries coming from it, followed by the sound of grappling hooks getting stuck on the edge of the Danish ship, pulling them closer.

Of course, Alfred was enraged. That coward of a Dane was going to surrender, eh? Well, _he_ wouldn't. As three Spaniards tried to get hold of him, he stroked them with hard punches in the face, trying to avoid some men that took out their swords and guns. One of them leaped on his back, hanging onto his neck, but got quickly thrown off with a swift lean forward. But at that moment, five more jumped on him, hitting him from every single direction with loads of power. Alfred received a blow in the stomach, cutting his breath, thus making him vulnerable. He suddenly saw, at the corner of his eye, a gun lying on the floor a few inches from him. He grabbed it, his finger on the trigger… and something smashed him on the head, causing his skull to nearly crack.

And then there was darkness.

**Woosh! How finishing with a cliffhanger feels good! And I added Denmark and Norway (and their names come from one of Himaruya's blogs)! Anyways, here are some translations:**

**-**_**Tadeusz, Andrzej **_**(Polish) =Polish equivalent of Thaddeus and Andrew**

**-**_**Zostawcie tego psa w spokoju**_** (Polish) =Leave that dog alone**

**-**_**Absolutnie nic, Andrzejku **_**(Polish) =Absolutely nothing, Andrew**

**-**_**tata **_**(Polish) =Dad**

**-**_**Łaaaaaaaaaaa **_**(Polish) =Polish onomatopoeia for crying or weeping**

**-**_**Ja **_**(Danish) =Yes**

**Now, history! **

**-Poland was indeed a very tolerant country compared to others at that period of time, when Jews, Protestants and other minorities were chased out of other countries. But the Roman Catholic power regained control of Poland, and most of the Polish noblemen that adopted protestant religion rebecame Catholic. **

**-The war Toris is talking about is the Eighty Years' War, which took place in modern Belgium, opposing the Seventeen Provinces to Spain. I just had this idea of placing one of the Spanish ships in the North Sea, just for the plot… **

**-Denmark then accepted the protestant religion, and it spread quickly all over the kingdom.**

**-The Polish hussars were a huge and powerful cavalry in Poland, introduced by Serbian mercenaries. They were considered the elite of the Commonwealth. One popular image of the Hussars is men on horses with "wings" in their backs, which scared the enemy's horses because of their flaps in the wind. If you still don't know what they are, Google them.**

**-**_**Barszcz, pierogis **_**and carp and traditional Polish dishes, the borsch is beet soup, pierogis are dumplings with various fillings and carp… we all know it's fish. P.S.: Borsch is very hard to wash off of things… especially the Christmas white table cloth.**

**Also, the **_**żurek**_**, another Polish soup with meat and halved eggs sometimes served in holed bread. Very delicious… **

**Boy, I think BelaLiet became one of my favorites, now…**

**So yes, sorry for the cliffhanger end, I just couldn't resist… new chapter coming out soon! And I thank all of you that reviewed/added my story! ^ ^ **


	10. Chapter 10: Terrible Surprise

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter X: Terrible Surprise

The first thing Alfred saw after waking up was a dark room with nothing more than a door and wooden planks as a floor. The back of his head was aching like hell, and he could feel bruises all over him.

_What the hell happened…? Right, those Spaniards attacked Christensen's ship… Oh, I remember now! Some idiot whacked me across the head when I grabbed the gun… I guess I must've been taken. But DAMN does my head hurt…_

He waved his hand up to touch the aching spot on his head and heard the cold noise of metal clanging. He looked down, intrigued, and saw that he was chained at his ankles and wrists. After numerous attempts of trying to slip his hands through the cuffs, he gave up and leaned back against the wall. Knowing that he was on a Spanish ship, there was absolutely no way he'd be back in England anytime soon. And that meant, much to Alfred's immense despair, that he'd never see Arthur again. Ever. A wave of rage mixed with agony submerged him. He was so close to his goal, and now all of his plans were shattered as if they were paper ripped by some incompetent fool.

All of his held-back anger slowly took the best of him and he exploded:

-YOU BASTARDS! LET ME OUT OF HERE, NOW! COME ON, SHOW YOURSELVES! YOU CALL YOURSELVES STRONG, SO COME HERE AND FIGHT! I DARE YOU! AND THANKS TO YOU AND THE IDIOTS OF YOUR KIND, I'LL PROBABLY NEVER SEE MY FRIEND OR MY BROTHER AGAIN! HAPPY, NOW?

Enraged, he got up, trying to break the chains or at least separate them from the wall, tugging and pulling with all the might in his bruised body. Seeing that it was completely futile, he broke down, slid all the way to the floor and burning tears ran down his face like a river.

Minutes ticked by, and Alfred slowly began to calm down, nevertheless still shaking. He never felt so desperate, so helpless, so wanting to see those emerald eyes again, wanting to just take Arthur in his arms and forget the whole world. For once, he hadn't rejected the fact of thinking about him.

His thoughts got interrupted by a loud door screech. He looked up, his blue eyes extremely blurry from his tears. Because of that, he couldn't clearly see who walked into the room. His hearing indicated that two men entered the "dungeon", and that one of them shut the door loudly. Almost immediately, an intense smell of cigar infiltrated Alfred's lungs, causing him to choke heavily. The whole room reeked from it.

-So, I see the insolent brat finally got back to his senses, eh? a strong, accented voice said.

The voice had a Spanish tone, but not the one Alfred had encountered three years ago. It was rougher, less swift, and seemed to come from a man with certain weight.

The English man, his eyes finally clear, looked up. A few feet from him stood a round, robust man, shorter than Alfred, with a grave face. He had dark skin, dark brown hair pulled all the way back and tied in a tail with sideburns, a slightly large nose, bushy eyebrows, along with black eyes. He also had some facial hair around his chin, and, despite the frightening aura he was propelling everywhere, he was dressed in colorful clothes, such as a red coat, yellow pants, and a green belt around his almost invisible waist and had an equally colored parrot on his right shoulder.

Alfred stifled a laugh. The man seemed to notice that, for he leaned forward, glaring at his captive with such anger Alfred thought he was going to leak.

-What's so funny, _idiota_?

-Who else in here is dressed like a buffoon?

The tanned man didn't seem to get what he meant, but seemed to realize it, because he suddenly grabbed Alfred by his shirt collar and literally raised him from the floor with striking force.

-I wonder if chu'll be joking around like that after this comes through you a hundred times.

With that, he drew out his sword, and pointed the edge of the blade straight on Alfred's stomach.

-Wait, _Máximo,_ do not injure him yet; it must be decided what to do with him by your co-captain.

Máximo, the man with the parrot, grunted in disappointment and dropped Alfred on the ground, causing the lad to injure his knees.

-Well thanks for the gentle landing, he muttered.

-It could've been worse, chu know, replied Máximo, you could've been cut to a thousand little pieces alive.

-Better than being a smoking idiot like yourself.

Boy did he want to gulp those words back into his mouth. The captain, who had his back facing him, suddenly stoned, and began shaking violently. As he turned around, Alfred saw his eyes becoming a deep red.

-**Why you**..!

-So, what is going on here, _Máximo_? a gentle, yet assured voice resonated behind the locked door.

-Ah, nothing much, just the captive dirty-mouthing about me, that's all.

-Can you let me in so that I can see him? This is the last one you've captured from the Danish ship, right?

-Indeed, he is. I know chu categorically refused on attacking that ship, but we had to, sorry!

And he unlocked the door. The man entered the room. His eyes widened to the point of almost popping out of their sockets.

-Alfred!

The called man glanced at him and froze. But the shock soon disappeared and was replaced by immense joy.

-Mattie!

The other one threw himself on his knees and embraced his lost brother in a bone-crushing hug.

-And I who thought you dead, Mattie! However did you survive that Spaniard?

-I'll tell you everything later, but man, _you're alive_! And well, too!

And the two burst out laughing, under the confused look of Máximo and the other man.

-_Mateo_? Do chu… know this _hombre_?..

-Do I know him? He's my brother, _Máximo_!

The chubby man choked.

-¿_Tu hermano? _You mean_ that_ insolent, nasty idiot is your _brother_?

Matthew seemed a bit shocked, but nodded, still hugging Alfred. Both were tearing, finally able of seeing each other after three years. He took out a large set of keys and opened the locks to the chains.

-You ain't going to sit like that any longer, Alfred. _Máximo_, ¡_lleva los alimentos, y una silla!_

_-Si, si, espera._

Alfred had finished telling his exploits to Matthew after gulping down a huge bowl of soup and an equal loaf of bread. His brother was visibly surprised that his brother had seen and lived in the kingdom everyone had been talking about.

-But how did you manage to live with them? Don't they mistreat their slaves, considering their power lately?

-You're like the rest, Mattie. Slavery had been forbidden some hundred years ago! But check this out! _Ja mówię po Polsku! _

Matthew's eyes rebecame wide.

-By the Queen's hair, they taught you Russian?

-That's Polish, silly! I thought the very same thing, but believe me; it's completely different (although it has some resemblances).

-I see… well guess what!_ Yo hablo español_!

-You cooperated with these guys? I can't believe you, Mattie! You completely betrayed England! You, my own brother! Next thing I'll find out is that you became Catholic!

Matthew blushed lightly and faced the floor. Alfred was utterly blocked.

-Don't tell me you did…

-I had no other choice, Alfred. I had the amazing luck of becoming the captain's favorite, and I had to become Catholic, because otherwise they would have killed me and everyone else on the ship or would've treated me like a slave. And, after hearing what has been done in the New World, I really didn't want that to happen. They began attacking many ships, but I swear on my very head that I never took part in them. Not even in this one. Even if I had a high rank on this ship, I couldn't speak against the captain.

-I see. But tell me what happened after that Spaniard took you, and be honest!

-Why shouldn't I be honest with my own brother? He took me in, and we immediately headed for the New World, to their colonies.

-Are you serious? You visited the New World!

-Of course I'm serious. I had the job of the captain's record-holder, and quickly became his most trusted man (at dispense of others, who hated me like the Devil despises Holy water). So we arrived in one of their colonies, and they took in a local, Máximo, to make him become a crewmember. Meanwhile, they taught me Spanish and had me baptized in Spain, along with the rest of the captives. But mind me asking you something… do you have any idea of where Arthur might be?

He quickly regretted asking that, for Alfred's eyes saddened surprisingly fast despite his usual cheerful personality.

-That is, I have a strong feeling that he's in England, and that's just where I was going until this darn ship attacked us. What were you doing in the North Sea, anyway?

-Well, as you may have heard, there is a war between the Seventeen Provinces and Spain, and so we got sent there to stop any enemy ships from escaping.

-But the Danes aren't enemies, are they?

-They're Protestants; we unfortunately received the order to do the same with them.

-Well that's just nice of you, Matthew Williams Jones! I never awaited that from you, ever!

He got up to leave, but got stopped by his brother, who caught his wrist.

-You think I _enjoy_ attacking these ships? I'm not a man of war, Alfred. I know three years is a lot, but I'm still the same twin brother you have.

Alfred looked into the fellow's purple eyes. Of course, there was no doubt in that, he thought, but still, his brother becoming Catholic… nah, screw that.

-One last thing… where are we going, right now?

-We're heading towards the Eastern coast of Africa and to India.

-Africa and India? And what are we going there for!

-Trading, I guess. We have some ports over there, since Vasco de Gama found a way to India. Our other task is to retrieve herbs, spices and clothing material from there to Spain.

-Oh, so we'll spend most of our time just sailing back and forth?

-Sort of; don't forget the wars.

At that moment the door opened, leading way to Máximo. From his point of view, the two men were sitting their backs facing him.

-So, you done talking with that idiot, _Mateo_?

And he hit Matthew's head so hard the poor lad fell forwards, crashing onto the ground face first.

-What was that for, _Máximo_? he said with a broken voice, rubbing his aching chin.

The man looked confused.

-That… that was chu, _Mateo_? I thought… but… how come… you two look so much alike from behind!

-That's because we're twins, I guess, replied Matthew, getting back up with the help from Alfred.

For the next few days, Alfred had been spending his time helping on the ship. After his reunion with his brother, the captain of the ship, no one else than the tomato-loving Antonio Fernández Carriedo, was extremely surprised to see the same brat he had separated from that English hooligan. However, since that brat was _el querido Mateo_'s brother, he decided to let him live and not to force him to be baptized.

The ship continued its journey to India, and had to stop at the port of Benguela, on the Eastern coast of Africa, in order to rest and get more food supplies.

Matthew, as the captain's right hand, had the allowance (if not the duty) of getting off the ship, along with a special permission granted to Alfred. The brothers happily followed Antonio into the colonized city. Although they were safe with the captain at their side, they felt sort of… targeted. I mean, tell me that all the children and old women staring at you like you were some kind of sea monster was normal?

Antonio stopped at a little home made of, from what Matthew told Alfred, dried mud and straw. Inside was an old African man, who seemed to be the chief of the little village turned into a Portuguese colony. The Spaniard began speaking to him in a strange language, one that even Matthew couldn't understand. But the twins could conclude that they weren't needed and walked out of the house and to the further parts of the village.

There were little markets placed out and about, with women screaming their lungs out in that strange language, children running with their dogs from one street onto another and men carrying large charges on their backs with such ease it surprised Matthew and Alfred. And then appeared this small tavern built by the Portuguese merchants, and the brothers stepped in, for they had a bit of money.

Once they stepped in, the smell of Spanish cuisine invaded their noses. The men that were already in there turned to them, suspicious, but went back to what they have been doing. Alfred and Matthew sat down, and the shyer one asked for two drinks in Spanish, to which the man behind the counter agreed with a nod.

-So tell me brother, what are you planning to do?

-Whatever do you mean, Alfred?

Alfred leaned towards him, hushing his tone.

-Don't tell me you're planning on staying with that Spaniard forever? We have to find Arthur! And Yao! And Carlson, and Sanders!

Matthew rubbed his temples.

-Look, Alfred, I know you're eager on doing so, but for now, it's impossible. I mean, we don't even know if he's alive!

He got cut off by the loud bang of Alfred's clenched fist crashing onto the table.

-He _is _alive, Matthew Williams Jones. And we're going to find him, whether you like it or not.

Everyone in the tavern was looking at them, angered for being interrupted from their activities. Matthew gave them a desperate look, and turned to his furious brother.

-Alfred, please be quiet. You're getting too much attention on us.

Alfred let out a sarcastic snicker.

-Let them think what they want. But I'm telling you, he said, pointing his finger at Matthew, we're going to escape and return to Arthur and the crew. I swear on it.

-No, we aren't, Alfred. I can't just leave Antonio like that.

-Oh, now you're standing up for one of the two men that caused all of this? Do you even know what you're saying? Honestly Matthew, I get the recent feeling that you're not my brother anymore.

-I am, Alfred! But please understand; if it weren't for that man, I'd be as good as dead by now.

His brother looked down at him with disgust in his blue eyes, and said after taking a sip from his drink the bartender brought to each one of them.

-Fine. Then I'll find them myself. And don't be sorry later if I do.

Matthew shivered. He had no intention of letting his brother go alone into the world.

-On second thought… I think I will go with you…

A pain-causing hug from Alfred across the table nearly made him cough up his drink.

-I knew it would make you want to go and find Arthur.

Matthew, a bit angered at himself for falling for his brother's trick, smiled lightly.

-But tell me, why are you so excited about finding Arthur, eh?

His brother froze, and returned to his seat, looking down at his glass.

-Oh, no reason, no reason at all.

-Are you having a fever, Alfred?

-No, why do you think so?

-Well, I have never seen you so burning red!

After they had finished their glass, they thanked the tavern keeper and marched out into the once again busy streets and to the port, where Antonio was talking with some fishermen. _Gosh, how did Mattie manage to learn their language so fast…it's completely awkward! _

Suddenly, his brother his behind a small shack next to the men and seemed to eavesdrop on their conversation. Alfred stood behind, intrigued, and felt nervous when Matthew ran back to him, with a strange look in his purple eyes.

-Alfred, you'll never believe what I just heard from the fishermen.

The ex-slave looked at him, encouraging him to speak up.

-They told Antonio that they had just come back from past the Cape of Good Hope, and… they warned him of some other ship over there.

Alfred's heart began pounding.

-Carry on…

-… They said it was an English ship. And one of them said they saw the name of it on the right side of the ship. He saw the _Lady of Atlantis_.

Alfred felt his legs become numb. It couldn't have been _that _ship… I mean, how many ships aren't called the _Lady of Atlantis_? _A lot, I guess…But that means that Arthur isn't in England… I guess I was on the wrong track the whole time!_

-Oh, Mattie, that's just awesome! All we have to do now is to stay on the ship, then, we'll find Arthur and ta-da! Happily ever after!

-I thought you wanted to run away… and what's with that "happily ever after"?

-Oh, nothing at all, my lovely little brother!

-I'm as old as you are, Alfred.

Alfred and Matthew were once again on the Spanish ship, now loaded with food and water supplies and on its way to India. The two brothers helped around as usual, but deep inside, they were tortured by the nervousness invading their stomachs. What if, during their escape, they'd get caught? Or what if they wouldn't get spotted by Arthur's ship? What if their boat was holed? What if they would drown?

-¡_Coraje, mis hombres, vamos a sobrevivir!_

Antonio's voice echoed in the midst of the hardly started storm. They were not that close to their destination, but it was absolutely unheard of turning back. All of the captives were safely kept under the deck, while the crew, including Alfred, was doing all its best to stand against the storm. But the twins weren't only hiding all objects on deck; they were also looking out for a ship with an English flag. So far, they had no luck.

_Maybe they accosted somewhere…_

-Alfred! Over there!

Matthew pointed something that Alfred had a hard time spotting. But then it was; a white flag with a red cross separating it in four.

His blue eyes widened. On that ship was the man he had been longing to see after three years.

He quickly ran down the stairs, and came back with a gun. He filled it, pointed it to the air and pulled the trigger. Again. And again. Anything just to get the other ship's attention.

A gunshot reached Arthur's ears. Were they under attack? He heard another one, followed by a third. He turned to where they came from, and gasped.

There was a Spanish ship a few hundreds of feet away. Despite the high risk, he yelled to his men:

-Carlson! Sanders! Get the cannon! Load it and follow my command!

-What is it, sir?

-Didn't you hear it? We're under attack!

His two faithful men looked at each other, and Jack Sanders grabbed a heavy cannonball and placed it in the mouth of the cannon.

Alfred filled his gun with more ammunition, when strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders.

-¿_Qué haces, idiota?_

It was Máximo and Antonio. They pulled the gun away from him and began screaming at him some Spanish atrocities.

-Do chu want us to get killed? _Mateo_, why didn't you stop him?

-Leave my brother out of this; I'm only alerting the other ship that we're here!

Antonio and Máximo started tearing their hair.

-Are you sick? They're going to shoot us down! Just look at what chu have done!

Arthur stood readily on his shaken by the waves ship. Carlson and Sanders were waiting for his signal. Although he was about to give his order, something in his head was yelling at him not to do it. _If I don't, _they _will kill us first, _he thought. _No, don't do it! For the Queen's sake, don't! You shall regret it later! Arthur, listen, please don't! This would be the biggest mistake of your life if you would! _The voice was telling him.

Arthur saw something happening on the deck of the Spanish ship, but couldn't tell who was there because of the heavy rain. Suddenly, the image of Alfred popped into his mind.

_Why am I thinking of him, damn it! This isn't the time!_

Antonio and Máximo were still holding onto Alfred, with Matthew trying to break them up.

-Please, captain, let him go, he didn't know what he was doing!, he pleaded in Spanish.

-That's just what I witnessed!, replied Antonio, carelessly banging Alfred on the head, my men, fill up the cannon, now!

-Fire!

But right when Arthur pronounced that word, he finally saw who was on the other ship. Those blue pleading eyes and that blonde hair with a cowlick standing up.

-ALFRED!

Alfred felt as if a sudden force lifted him up into the air. When the ship exploded, he received many blisters into his already bruised skin, and the loud bang nearly made him deaf.

-ALFRED!

The long-awaited cry echoed in his ears. That voice, the one and only voice he had wanted to hear more than anything else. His head tilted to the left and he saw, sixty feet lower, the English ship. He saw that emerald green in the middle of the grey from the rain and sea.

-Alfred! ALFRED!

Their eyes met, until Alfred was pulled back into the raging sea and engulfed completely after crashing into the water.

The last things he remembered were the constant agonizing cries of the man whom he loved the most, while water was filling up his lungs and pushing him downwards, with all of the wood from the ship blocking his way to the surface.

_Arthur… farewell… I love you…_

***Sniff* another cliffhanger, ain't it? As usual, translations first:**

**-**_**idiota **_**(Spanish) =idiot**

**-**_**hombre **_**(Spanish) =man**

**-**_**Tu hermano **_**(Spanish) =Your brother**

**-**_**lleva los alimentos, y una silla**_ **(Spanish) =Bring some food, and a chair**

**-**_**Si, si, espera **_**(Spanish) =Yes, yes, wait**

**-**_**Ja mówię po Polsku**_ **(Polish) =I speak Polish**

**-**_**el querido Mateo **_**(Spanish) =the dear Matthew**

**-**_**Coraje, mis hombres, vamos a sobrevivir **_**(Spanish) =Courage, my men, we shall survive**

**-**_**Qué haces, idiota **_**Spanish) =What are you doing, idiot**

**I added Cuba to the story, he's such an amusing character ^ ^**

**The Spanish had a vast empire (first formed by the Portuguese) that was made from some land in the New World, a.k.a modern Cuba and the territories found by Columbus. They also had ports in Africa, such as Benguela. The Cape of Good Hope had been discovered by Bartolomeu Dias, and first named by him the **_**Cape of Storms**_**. **

**Wrote this while listening to **_**Save My Life**_** from Xandria, got me in the dramatic mood… **

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Next one to come in a few days! **__


	11. Chapter 11: Glitter of Hope

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter XI: Glitter of Hope

The storm was long gone. Despite being miles away from where the unfortunate incident had happened, you still could see wooden planks floating around in the murky waters of the Indian Ocean. There were barrels, remains of doors, even parts of the deck; but there was not a single sign of life anywhere. The silence that reigned over the water was deadly eerie, so eerie everyone aboard the _Lady of Atlantis_ felt utter shock, while their nervousness was ravaging their stomachs.

But somewhere deeper in the ship, which means in the headquarters, was the most devastated man in the world. And that was Arthur Kirkland.

-I killed him! I bloody killed Alfred! "Fire" and _boom_, dead, gone, drowned, I killed him!

The crew had never seen him like this, even before they had left to conquer the world on their own ship. They could barely recognize their captain; his courageous, triumphant look and posture, handsome face full of confidence and strength, the skilled and at times cruel young man that slowly gained a terrorizing reputation in the world…

All of that was gone, leaving nothing but a miserable, lovesick creature with no other thought than the one that it killed the most precious thing to it.

Arthur walked around his room, enraged and pained at the same time, not minding the fact he was throwing objects off of their places and onto the floor, some even crashing loudly and breaking into a million pieces.

Brendon Carlson, Jack Sanders, Yao Wang and Peter Kirkland were all standing quietly at the door, wincing every time a precious vase or plate would come smashing to the wooden floor. For them, Arthur had completely lost his mind. Of course, he killed Alfred, along with Matthew, but _how could he have possibly known_?

-Look, captain, the lad's dead, too bad he didn't receive a proper funeral, stop yapping and co…

Jack Sanders was cut off when Arthur's hands grappled onto his collar and lifted him off the ground. From behind those messy and spiky blonde bangs, he could see the captain's bright green eyes surrounded by a deep red, almost as if he were possessed. His slashed bushy eyebrows, despite their position above his eyes, didn't even make Sanders smirk. For now, he felt terror growing inside of him.

-Mind saying that again, if you dare, Sanders.

Shivers slithered all the way up Jack's back. He never heard Arthur speak in such a tone and voice. It was grave, menacing, as if he spit burning poison onto Jack's horrified face at every word he pronounced. Kirkland was now glaring at him straight in the eyes, his lip slightly quivering and tears slowly forming themselves again. Jack raised his arms in resignation.

-I'm sorry captain, but what I said is true! Alfred's somewhere at the bottom of the Indian ocean by now, and it's time for us to…

-SHUT UP!

Jack was sent tumbling onto the floor in the middle of the crashed vases and plates. Brendon Carlson and the others ran to him to help him get up, with Arthur looking after them. They carried him out of the headquarters, and just when they removed their foot out of the room, the door was shut with such strength every single window on the ship vibrated dangerously. On that, Arthur walked slowly to his desk, let himself fall on the chair and broke down in tears, his head embedded in his arms crossed on the bureau. Never had he realized how much Alfred meant for him. And now, he was dead. For him, it was as if his own life ended.

The day turned sunny after the heavy storm and rain. The water regained its usual calm, as a fresh breeze swayed the palm trees back and forth, also sending small waves slashing against some rocks near the coast of a small island. A little girl was walking down that very beach, searching for seashells and, hopefully, some crabs or fish she could catch to feed her large family.

She was a light, innocent and adorable child, with gently tanned skin and wearing a frilly blue as the sky dress that ended below her knee. With her hair tied into two pigtails with red ribbons dangling over her shoulders and her big, expressive brown eyes, Maisha was just about the cutest little being anyone could ever see.

As she walked about, some clear blue ocean water wet her feet, although she was wearing white sandals tied with matching cords. Amused, she ran along, the wind swaying her hair behind her.

And then she stopped.

For a moment, she thought her brown eyes were playing a nasty trick on her; but after rubbing them with her tiny clenched fists, she realized they weren't. Maisha dropped her basket and ran into the water, and began screaming at the top of her lungs for help to arrive. In the ocean, on their backs or stomachs, four beat men were floating lifelessly.

Alfred was walking in the middle of, well, he himself didn't know exactly where. The only thing he knew was that he was alive and well, with not a single visible scratch from all the splinters and bruises he received after the ship exploded. Everything around him was bathed in white light, which blurred the rest of the scenery. Despite that, a soft wind flowed gently through his hair as he marched forward, not expecting anything or anyone. _Alfred!_ Was someone calling him? Nah, must've been the wind. _Alfred, over here! _He turned around sharply. No one was there. _Am I in Heaven?_ he thought, _does that mean he's dead too? _He turned to walk away when something grabbed his shoulder. This time, there was someone there when he turned back. He saw the green eyes that he locked his with seconds before he was engulfed into the ocean, with pieces of the Spanish ship and heavy currents sending him deeper and deeper to the bottom, drowning him. Tears flowed down his cheeks, messing his blue eyes as he narrowed them from joy. _Arthur… so you're here, dead? _Although he said that, no words flew out of his mouth, just a huff of his breath. Arthur, who was dressed in his red pirate clothes and hat, shook his head in disagreement; his thin, firm face frowned. _Then what are you doing here? _Arthur moved his lips but, just like in Alfred's case, what he said was inaudible. Alfred tried reading their movement, but didn't manage to get a word. _Well, forget everything, you're here, finally! Gosh, you have no clue how much I wanted to see you! After three full years! _And he embraced the shorter man, holding Arthur's head in his hands over his shoulder. Arthur wanted to break free, but finally quit and hugged him back. Alfred could feel a warm stream of tears down his back. Then, just as he thought they would last forever like this, the wind suddenly became much stronger, and darkness reigned, replacing the previously white landscape. He instinctively strengthened his grip around Arthur, as if to keep him safe from something. And then, out of the complete blue, Alfred felt the captain flinch, and what he saw made his eyes widen. A sharp blade was implanted deep into Arthur's back, and warm streams of blood flew out of the flesh-wound. _Arthur! _He saw a large shadow approach them from behind his friend. _Arthur, speak to me, come on, Art!_ The shadow took the proportions of a tall, muscular man. _Who the hell are you? _As he asked mutely, the shadow was now fully human, and had blonde, almost platinum hair, with those murder purple eyes, and reached for the sword in Arthur's back. _You… it's you… Aleksandr! What do you want from Arthur? You'll pay for that, you stupid, drunken…_ His blue eyes reflected the blood-stained blade being lift up, and Aleksandr transpierced Arthur's back once more, even deeper into the wound. Alfred moved away rapidly, with his dying friend in his arms against his chest. _Alfred…_ The man looked down, as Aleksandr approached slowly towards him, brandishing his sword. _What? What is it, Artie? Don't die, you have no clue how life's already unbearable enough! _The dead emerald eyes sank into his and Arthur lifted his head. With his last breath, he managed to whisper out: "_…van… raginski…_". And when he said those words, his blonde head tilted back; his life had just run out, making of him nothing but a heavy, cold and stiff corpse. Alfred felt his eyes burn him. _Arthur! Arthur, man, you're can't be dead! Come on, wake up, please! ARTHUR! _When he turned around, the sharp blade was a few inches from his back, reflecting the insane face of Aleksandr Dubrovskiy…

-NO!

Alfred jumped up, expecting to be pierced with the sword already colored with Arthur's blood.

But then he felt something warm and soft under him. He opened his eyes. He was in a three-walled room made of wood, opened to the beach in front of him. _Where am I? _He looked down. He was lying on a white bed, with a large sheet as a blanket. The warm breeze calmed him down, as he sat up, admiring the view in shock. Was he on an island? If so, where? And who treated his wounds? Who bandaged his injuries up for him? Whatever happened to…

-Mattie!

His head turned to the right and he saw, to his immense relief, his brother, sound asleep. On his left were Antonio Fernández Carriedo and Máximo. _Thank God… it was all a dream… _But then the look of the Russian man came back to him. Why, in his dream, did Arthur say those two incomprehensible words… that's when he remembered. _Do not meet with Ivan Braginski_. Something flashed in his mind. Was Arthur, back then, trying to warn him? But who was Ivan? He didn't know any Ivan.

Alfred was lost deep in his thoughts as he tried to connect everything. Arthur knew a certain Ivan Braginski, but who was he? Some old enemy of his? A rival similar to Antonio? Or what if…

-Oh, God…

Ivan Braginski _was _Aleksandr Dubrovskiy.

That explained everything. That explained Arthur's reaction when he first met them and when they told him about Aleksandr. He began crying when they described him and his almost silver hair and purple eyes.

And a darker theory appeared in his mind; was his life in danger?

Panicked, he got up, and realized that the pain was half-gone, due to the bandages around his forehead, arms and chest, the stomach as well. And, surprisingly, all of the splinters were gone. _Now how did they… hey, who's that over there? _

He looked at a blue silhouette walking from the beach towards the house. Despite his poor view, he recognized a small girl with brown hair tied into pigtails. _Did she save us? _When she came in, she said something in a strange language, cheerfully, nevertheless.

-I don't speak… whatever you're speaking, he said to her, smiling.

She seemed perplexed. He asked her if she knew English, she nearly laughed. _Man, she doesn't know English! What island am I on, anyway? Wait! Maybe Antonio will know what she's saying! _

And he turned to the Spaniard on his left and shook his shoulder.

-Antonio, Antonio, wake up!

The Spanish captain mumbled something under his breath. Alfred shook him with more force, and he finally woke up.

-_Dios mío__...__¿dónde estamos?_

He got up and saw the little girl. His eyes lit up a bit. He spoke to her in a complicated language, and she seemed to understand. They conversed, as Alfred woke up Matthew slowly.

-Mattie, you awake?

-Yeah, sort of… where are we?

-We're on some sort of island, and Antonio's talking with the girl that, I think, saved us. You feeling alright?

-Yes, but I feel as if I still have some water in my lungs… You?

-I'm fine, just had this strange dream… about Arthur… and Aleksandr Dubrovskiy.

And he told Matthew his reflections, and who Aleksandr really was. His brother's lavender eyes widened.

-Are you serious? So Arthur knew that mob?

Alfred nodded, as worried as Matthew. Meanwhile, Antonio had already finished saying what had happened to them, and the girl told him her name was Maisha and that she lived on this island with a small community, including her large family whom lived deeper in the forest. She was 9 years old, and that her older brothers helped her carry them to this shack after she found them in the water. Antonio suddenly grabbed her hand and kissed it softly, as a sign of gratitude and admiration. He reported everything to his friends.

-So what do we do now, Antonio? asked Matthew.

-This little _señorita _said that we're on an island in the Indian Ocean, not far from the western coast of Africa, near the Red Sea. I asked her how we could get back home, and she replied that the Ottoman Empire has been at war with the Habsburg Monarchy for over a year, along with Spain and some other countries, _but_ we could still navigate through the Red Sea and straight into the Mediterranean, for the war isn't localized on the African continent for now. 

-But… but… we don't even have a ship! exclaimed Matthew and Alfred at the same time.

Antonio smiled cheerfully.

-Luckily for us, we're not the only ones here.

-Whatever do you mean?

-Maisha said a group of Italians accosted on the other side of the island, because they got lost, even if they had a well-drawn map.

After the four men were able to walk normally, Maisha accompanied them to the other edge of her island, along with her parents and siblings. There, much to their amazement, they saw a fine Italian ship made of the finest wood, with its white flag waving proudly on top of the mast.

-This is… the Italian ship, Maisha?

Even if she didn't understand quite well, she knew what "Italian" meant, and nodded. She called out to the men on the ship.

A few minutes later, they heard someone talking with a calm, cheerful and melodious voice, followed by an enraged and rough one. That's when they saw the ever so famous Italians.

They looked like twins, for their faces were pretty much alike. One of them had a very happy face with fair skin, closed eyes, light brown hair parted in the middle. He also had a long curl at standing out near his left ear. He was dressed in light blue clothes and had a matching hat.

Next to him was his older-looking brother, who was his complete opposite. His hair was dark, parted on the left side of his head; he was clearly tanned, had amber eyes, an angered look on his face and had a light brown complet suit on him. The supposedly twin also had a curl, which stood wildly up from his hair resting on his forehead. Alfred saw Antonio smirking and twitching slightly as the two Italians went off the boat to greet them.

-_Buongiorno_ _a tutti_, my name is Feliciano Vargas, and this is my brother, Lovino, said the elated one, his eyes still closed (Alfred was wondering how he managed to get down the "bridge plank" without tumbling over into the ocean).

-_Zitto, Feliciano! _yelled out his brother, whose voice appeared rocky compared to the other one's.

Antonio seemed as if he was floating on a cloud. He walked heavenly towards them, to Feliciano in particular.

-_Buongiorno, buongiorno, mis amigos. __Me llamo Antonio Fernández Carriedo, soy de España, _he said solemnly, bowing almost to the sand whilst taking off his large red and yellow hat. 

The brothers looked at each other, confused. Antonio, who was still bowing and facing the ground, started to understand what had happened. Matthew bent down to his ear.

-I don't think they understand Spanish that well, _capitán. _They're Italian after all, and your language isn't as similar to theirs as we might think.

Antonio stoned. His little showoff just got crushed into little pieces. The two Italians were still looking at him, when Feliciano said kindly, like an angel:

-Wow, you Spanish have a very nice language! I wish I could learn it!

He slurred at the end of every word, his face turning more innocent every second. Alfred glanced at Antonio; he was near letting out a small drool, his green eyes on that Italian lad. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer and squeezed him into a tight hug.

-You are so cute! You are the most adorable Italian I have ever met!

Something shoved him violently face first to the ground. It was Lovino.

-Don't touch my _fratello_, you _idiota_!

Antonio looked into his amber eyes and, as swift and quick as a snake, he was back on his feet, hugging the dark-toned Italian.

-You are also so adorable! And both of you have these curls…

He pulled on the curled up strand of hair. Alfred, Matthew and Máximo saw Lovino's eyes widen, his irises shrink and his face become as red as a tomato.

-GET AWAY FROM ME, _IMBECILLE_!

His head went crashing into Antonio's stomach like a cannonball. The Spaniard choked, fell to the ground and passed out. Maisha, who was watching all of this quietly, walked towards the five men and pointed to the other side of the island. It indicated that it would be better to discuss the whole thing in the little hut.

-So it seems you want to get back to England through our boat, am I right? asked Feliciano, with a worried voice.

-Yes, that's right; we've wanted that for three years, justified Alfred and Matthew.

The Italians seemed shocked.

-Three years? All because of that idiot over there?

They pointed at Antonio, who was resting on his bed, still out from the hit he received from Lovino.

-Yes, all because of that idiot, agreed Alfred, would it bother you if we journey with you to Europe?

-But of course not! You are most welcome on our ship! assured them Feliciano, waving his pale hand back and forth as if it weren't any trouble to take all of them.

-Well then, in that case we shall set off in two hours. But I'm _not_ taking that pervert with us, said coldly Lovino, pointing disgustingly at the Spaniard.

-Oh, but he's not always that bad, I assure you, hurried Matthew.

The amber-eyed Italian looked at him, and softened a bit.

-Fine; all of you be ready, we'll be leaving.

Alfred, his brother, Máximo and Antonio were all set on the Italian ship, waving farewell to Maisha and her family on the beach. The little girl had packed lots of food supplies with the help of her mother and sisters, and all of her brothers did a few arrangements to the ship, checking if everything was alright and helped Feliciano and Lovino carry some barrels of water onto the ship. Antonio waved and saluted the large family in their language, to which they responded. Alfred and Matthew went below the deck, after the Italians showed them to their rooms. They were going to sleep on hammocks, just like in their old ship.

-Well, Mattie, said Alfred, throwing himself onto a hammock, we're going to England!

**Notes:**

**I'm honestly not that proud of this chapter, really… but anyways, translations:**

**-**_**Dios m**__**í**__**o… d**__**ó**__**nde estamos **_**(Spanish) =My God… where are we?**

**-**_**señorita **_**(Spanish) =miss**

**-**_**Buongiorno a tutti **_**(Italian) =Good morning, everyone**

**-**_**Zitto **_**(Italian) =Shut up!**

**Now for some history! First of all, I must precise that Seychelles, even though she appeared here, wasn't a known island back then, and was becoming more populated in the 1600s. Nevertheless, I added her, she's such a nice country ^ ^ The war we're talking about here between the Ottoman Empire (or Turkey) and the Habsburg Monarchy (Austria), also called the Long War, began in 1591/1593 and ended in 1604/1606. For Austria, their goal was to free the central Hungarian territories occupied by the Turks, while the Ottoman Empire wanted to conquer Vienna. **

**Hope you enjoyed this (sucky, in my opinion) chapter, there's more on the way! :D **


	12. Chapter 12: An Unlikely Relative

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter XII: An Unlikely Relative

It has been over three weeks since Alfred, Matthew, Antonio, Máximo and the two Italian brothers had left Maisha's little island located almost in the middle of nowhere.

Although life on the ship was a breeze, there were frequent fights and misunderstandings between the Spanish captain and one of the Italians, Lovino Vargas. Reasons were numerous; Antonio would continue touching Lovino's mysterious curl, he would try to sneak up on him and his brother when it was time to sleep (yes, you read right, he _did_), would call him every single possible Spanish nickname (list included _Bonito_, _Lindonito_, _Lovi_, _Mi amor_, you name it) much to Lovino's anger and deep embarrassment.

Briefly, no one knew what had hit Antonio Fernández Carriedo.

Meanwhile, the poor Lovino's younger brother, Feliciano, was the cheeriest thing you could ever meet. Not only was he an excellent cook (his pasta made everyone impatient for supper); he could sing like a bird and play various instruments (it was mostly the lyre) like the most gifted musician in the world.

Obviously, it made his brother Lovino green from jealousy, for he, well, wasn't _that_ good in everything named above, unfortunately.

-_Terra_!

The crow nester yelled out one day, very early in the morning, causing everyone below the deck to rise up from their hammocks and run up the stairs.

Indeed, far ahead, Alfred could see the sleepy town of Weymouth reflected in the bay. He covered his watery eyes with one hand, leaning against the side of the ship.

-Oh, Mattie, I can't believe we're finally home… Now all is left to do is to wait for Arthur to come back and we'll get back to our normal lives, Matthew!

And much to his brother's surprise, Alfred embraced him, lifting him off the ground, and twirled around the deck, laughing and tearing from joy. Matthew tried to make him let go, but it was practically impossible.

-Alfred, please let me go, he said in his silent, gentle voice which everyone thought he had lost since he got taken onto the Spanish ship.

-No way I'll do that, at least, not for now, replied Alfred, still twirling and laughing at the same time.

It was still dark out when the Italian ship stopped at the Weymouth port as discreetly as it could. Some fishermen getting ready for parting all looked at it, confused. What was an Italian ship doing so far from Italy? It was only when they heard someone speak English that they calmed down and went back to their business.

-Feliciano, Lovino, thank you for everything, and take care, thanked Alfred and Matthew, their filled-with-food bags under their arms. Matthew went over to Antonio and Máximo, saying a last farewell.

-_Gracias por todo, espero que nos encontramos de nuevo_, he said, hugging his two caretakers.

-_A_ _nosotros también_, they replied, with slight tears in their eyes.

And the two English brothers descended the "plank bridge", after bidding farewell to their Latin companions, whom journeyed back to the South.

Alfred and Matthew walked warningly in the quiet streets of Weymouth, hoping to find a small inn to rest and have something to eat. It has been such a long time since they had last set foot in England, and they were enjoying every single bit of it.

-Mattie, we're finally home! Ain't it just glorious?

It seemed that, ever since they had stepped on English ground, Matthew became his old self, quiet, shy, gentle and almost invisible. Alfred was relieved by that; for the past few weeks, he thought his brother metamorphosed himself into a whole other person.

They walked past little houses as the sun peeked up timidly from the horizon. Alfred tilted his head towards it, and a wave of memories swayed inside him. _Yeah, just wait for Arthur, then everything will be alright. Wonder what fuzzybrow is doing now…_

At that moment, thousands of miles to the South, was that exact "fuzzybrow" Alfred was thinking about, all alone in his headquarters, drinking his head off. He still hadn't gotten over Alfred's tragic death, a death that he, Arthur Kirkland, had caused due to a false jump to conclusion. As his dizzy head was resting on his desk, he was mumbling out some incomprehensible words while sliding his finger on the edge of the full glass, creating a slight high-pitched melody. Someone knocked on his door.

-Come in, he said, his voice croaking like a frog, before crashing his forehead onto the wooden bureau.

Carlson and Sanders walked in, with a deep concerned look.

-You alright, captain?

-Yes, yes, I'm alright… ah, Alfred… why'd'ya have to shoot? Poor lad must be at the bottom of the ocean right now…

He slurred during the whole phrase, much to the two men's shock. Jack Sanders approached the large desk and took away the three bottles of rum; two of which was already empty and the other one, to the half.

-I really think you should stop drinking, captain. Not good for your health, you know?

But Arthur snatched the half-empty bottle from him and gulped down its entire recipient with a disgusting noise. After placing it aside, he rested his head on his palm, his elbow on the desk, face tilted horizontally, giving him an even more drunken look.

-Are you goin' to tell me what to do? Tsk. If you two gits think so, then you better get outta' here before I show you the real power of the Kirkland name.

-Sorry, captain, but we can't do that, especially if you are in such a state, disagreed Brendon Carlson.

-OUT, I SAID!

And he fell on top of his large bed, feeling as if he were going to die, as the two men walked out hastily.

Meanwhile, back in jolly England, Alfred and Matthew found hospitality in a small inn near the port, where a kind old man greeted them. He prepared some food for them, set a charming little table and sat next to them whilst they ate quietly.

-So, where you coming from, m'boys?

-That's quite a long story, sir, replied Matthew, whom had to repeat himself three times before the innkeeper could hear him.

-Well then, tell me all about it, we still have some time before my current customers awake.

And so, for the next hour, Alfred and Matthew each told their versions of their (pretty long) journey, and the man's reaction were his widened grey eyes and surprised wrinkled face.

-Boy, it must've been rather tough now, wasn't it?

-Very, precised Alfred, finishing his cup of water.

I heard you traveled a long way, gentlemen.

Alfred and Matthew turned around, for the voice didn't belong to either one of them or the old man.

Standing in the doorway was an almost exact replica of Arthur Kirkland, except that it had bushy red hair and an older look. Alfred was flabbergasted.

-A-Arthur… whatever happened to your hair?..

The unknown man laughed.

-I'm no Arthur Kirkland, chap. I'm his older brother, though, that's who I am.

Matthew dropped his drink, making it leak from the table to the floor. That man was Arthur's brother?

-You… you… that's impossible. Quit joking; who are you, if not neither Arthur nor his brother? asked Alfred with a cautious voice. Nothing in this world was going to make him believe that that redhead was his lov… friend's sibling.

The stranger approached the trio with a large smile on his face. The two brothers noticed he had the same bushy brows as Arthur, and he looked awkwardly alike.

-I _am_ Arthur Kirkland's brother, and this is no hoax. My name is Terence Kirkland.

Alfred reacted immediately; he had heard Arthur talking to him about his brothers, Terence in particular, whom had abandoned the whole family and left for Ireland. For now, England was at war with the Irish, and they weren't at all welcome anywhere. Nevertheless, if that redhead knew Arthur's eldest brother's name, he had to be just that brother.

-Well, I'm pleased to meet you! Sorry for not believing you; that was just… unexpected.

-It's quite a'right. S'not your fault. I just happened to stop by this inn and sort of overheard your small talk, Terence said, still smiling.

Arthur and Matthew spent the rest of the day speaking with Terence Kirkland, happy that they didn't have to repeat their whole story all over again, for it was rather bothersome.

-By the way, do you have any news of Arthur? questioned the redhead Alfred, with a hint of worry in his voice.

Terence drank his wine, glancing at the lad with the strange cowlick.

-Indeed I do.

-So, how is he? continued Alfred, his hands starting to shake mildly.

-He is fine; I had received news from him that he thinks he killed both of you, and that he's coming back to England… in fact…

-In fact?.. pressured him Alfred, on the edge of screaming of joy.

Arthur's brother smirked.

-…In fact, he already arrived.

A loud triumphant scream echoed throughout the town of Weymouth and beyond.

Alfred just couldn't contain himself. The man he loved was here, in England!

Before anyone could stop him, he leaped into Terence's arms, nearly strangling him.

-Oh, my dear Terence! You're one of the best things that had ever happened to me! Bless you, bless you, bless you!

-Can't breathe, chap, managed to wheeze out the redhead, crushed between the tall man's embrace.

It wasn't until Terence turned purple that Alfred finally let go of him. He then ran to Matthew.

-Did you hear that, Mattie? Arthur's in England!

Grabbing his brother by the shoulders, Alfred shook him almost violently, not able of calming down.

-L-l-let g-go of m-me, A-A-Alfred…

He hadn't heard his brother laugh so much since… Matthew couldn't even tell when.

While Alfred also began hugging his shyer twin, Terence smiled gently.

The old man made sure his three clients were all packed and waved a last goodbye to them as they followed Terence Kirkland out of town.

-So tell me, Terry, where to?

-We'll have to get past Overcombe to arrive in Preston, therefor' I suggest we take the route the nearest to the water, it'll be much shorter.

Alfred, still elated, never felt lighter than now. Somewhere, Arthur was sitting, enjoying his morning tea and breakfast.

They had walked only for over two hours, and have almost made it. The trio was only half a mile from Preston, their goal-city.

-You're telling me that that's where Arthur decided to stay? asked Matthew timidly.

-Yes, that's right, replied Terence, not without his warm smile and sparkling green eyes.

And they continued marching. Matthew approached Alfred and whispered into his ear.

-Alfred, I don't have the slightest idea why, but I am getting a bad feeling about all of this "older brother" stuff.

-Oh, come on, Mattie, scoffed Alfred, you're just nervous, that's all.

-I'm serious, Alfred. That old lad just doesn't make me feel that all of this is safe.

-Horribly sorry for making you worry.

The two brothers looked up and saw Terence stop and turn to them. _Now how the Devil did he hear that well? We're over nine feet away from him! And we whispered!_ thought Matthew.

-Oh, don't make a biggie out of it, Terry; just my brother, he's always nervous, excused the purple-eyed man Alfred, thus receiving a discreet yet hurting elbow in his ribs from him.

Terence seemed a bit upset; but he simply continued walking.

It was past noon when they reached the small village, nevertheless they stopped at another inn where they ate a proper lunch.

-Alright; so where is Artie, now?

Alfred watched Terence as he finished up eating his fish.

-He stopped at a small house a few streets down; be patient, he should be asleep at the moment.

Alfred's clear blue eyes expressed his confusion. Arthur Kirkland? Sleeping at two after noon? Pshh, complete bollocks.

-Well, can't we just get there right now? I'd feel much better if I'd get to see him.

Terence looked at him.

-I noticed you are v'ry fond of my brother, aren't you?

That sentence caused Alfred not to speak up anymore until they left the inn.

Terence told the brothers that he had some "unfinished business to wrap up", and so they passed their time walking after him when he would go from one shop to another. Honestly speaking, Alfred as becoming more and more impatient, but an insisting look from Matthew would calm him down and allow him to bear it longer. At last, around six in the evening, Terence finally did what he had to do and announced that he would lead them to the long-awaited Brit.

At this chilly month of October, the days were growing shorter, meaning that there was a minimal amount of daylight. The trio was walking through the streets of Preston, whilst the sun was already disappearing behind the horizon. Alfred and Matthew, a bit disappointed at Terence from leading them practically nowhere, followed him slowly as he entered a narrow alley.

-Where we going, Terry?

-We just have to cross this wee little street and we'll get to there, don't you worry a bit.

_I hope s…_

Alfred felt someone grab his head and something soft cover his mouth. As he turned to the right, Matthew had the same. But before he could grab the person who was doing so, he suddenly felt extremely drowsy, as his view became more and more blurry.

_What is this supposed to be? Wait, that's… that is…_

And everything darkened, and what happened next, he did not know.

**Notes:**

**I think I'm getting addicted to cliffies… although I'll try to stop doing so, I might get on your nerves. So, translations ^ ^**

**-**_**Bonito **_**(Spanish) =Beautiful**

**-**_**Lindonito **_**(Spanish) =This nickname was made by me (unless it exists somewhere already) and is made of **_**lindo **_**(cute) and **_**nito **_**(suffix for adjectives).**

**-**_**Mi amor **_**(Spanish) =My love**

**-**_**Terra **_**(Italian) =Land**

**-** _**Gracias por todo, espero que nos encontramos de nuevo**_ **(Spanish) =Thank you for everything, I hope we shall meet again**

**-**_**A nosotros también **_**(Spanish) = Same for us**

**Historically, the Irish were a great deal of an enemy for the English, and at this time (1597), they were at war, called the **_**Nine Years' War**_** between the alliances of Irish clans and Spain versus the Kingdom of England. They say that the Irish would even stand up for the enemy in order to win. I pity the Queen…**

**Hope you liked it! Updating will happen in the next few days! **


	13. Chapter 13: A Kind Soul and the Devil

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter XIII: A Kind Soul and the Devil

Alfred felt pain everywhere. He also sensed cold, extreme humidity and the foul smell of raw meat and waste. He twitched his nose in disappointment and utter disgust. _Not again…_ _What is this place? I swear, if I get my hands on the imbecile who did this, he's going to get the beating of his life… Hold on, what the hell…_

His arms and legs were bound with strong rope. He had noticed it after failing to rub his eyes and standing up. _WHAT THE?... Matthew. Where's Matthew? _

-Alfred…

The called-upon glanced at his right and saw his brother lying on his side, tied up as strongly as Alfred.

-Oh, Mattie, you're fine! Are you hurt anywhere?

-No, just my head's aching like someone had thrown a thousand bricks upon it… where are we, anyway?

Seriously, Alfred had no clue. One thing he knew for sure was that they were in some sort of travel wagon, for they could feel that the small room they were in was shaking and bumping, and the place was reeking with sickening horse smell.

-Where do you think they're taking us?

Alfred looked desperately at his brother.

-Seriously, I don't have the slightest idea, Matthew.

The lavender-eyed man was shocked. When his own cheerful brother would call him by his complete first name, that meant they were in one heap of a trouble.

_If that's how Arthur thought of as a welcome party for us, wait 'til I find him… and he better be sorry, if he knows what's good for his eyebrows…_

The wagon drove for another approximately four hours, and from the smell of it, it was already an advanced hour in the night. Meanwhile, Alfred was thinking of a way to escape from all of this. For him, it was all a question of life or death, even if, for now, their lives seemed to be sort of fine. First of all, whatever happened to Terence Kirkland, the eldest brother of Arthur whom moved to Ireland? Was he taken, too? Probably not; he wasn't anywhere in sight inside the wagon. Did he run away? On one hand, he was one lucky man. On the other, wretched be the day Alfred will lay his hands on him.

It had been over six hours since they had been put to sleep by some mysterious entity in a small alley in Preston, and both brothers pledged that they wouldn't sleep until they'd find out _who_ did that, _why _and _what_ the hell was happening. Alfred attempted to get on his knees and get up somehow, but it was pointless; you couldn't even twist your wrist an inch because of the strong bounds, so talk about standing up. _Damn you, Terence. Damn you, damn you, damn you… _

Suddenly, he heard someone say something in a cold voice to another person, whom replied in the same language. It was similar to the Polish language, but not quite.

_Don't tell me that's… I'm in the center of Hell. And Matthew too. What does he want?_

The door to the wagon got opened wide, and before anyone could see it coming, Alfred was blindfolded with a black cloth and felt a pair of strong hands grab his arms and legs and lift him from the floor, and they carried him rather quickly towards somewhere. _Matthew, are they carrying you too like this? _Alfred thought. _If you mean that I'm being held horizontally as if I were a hunted pig of some sort, then yes, I am_. Strangely, Alfred and Matthew could understand each other without even having to peep.

-Say, where are we going, chaps? asked Alfred, smiling and trying to ease the atmosphere with a laughing voice.

-_Zatknis', huligan_, replied a grave voice.

Alfred kept quiet for the rest of the excursion.

The night was continuing to advance, and Alfred could smell pine trees from afar as a fresh nocturnal breeze caressed his face and flew through his blonde hair, shaking his eternal cowlick back. You might be thinking what was going through his mind. Well, here's what: _Why did I ever meet Arthur Kirkland? Why did we ever get separated? Why was I sold to a (luckily for me) kind Pole and Lithuanian? Why did I have to go back to England on _that _Danish ship? Why did the attacking ship happen to have my brother on it? Why did I have to travel to India? Why did I fire? Why didn't Arthur take that as a signal that we were there? Why did we land on a small island with caring people? Why did we meet Terence Kirkland in England? AND WHY DID WE GET CAPTURED BY GOD KNOWS WHO? _

He was thinking like that until he heard a large wooden door open with a screech, and he concluded that they walked into a building or house of some sort.

-_Parol'? _

-_Vniz s Angliyei_.

Alfred guessed it was a password of some sort. From the way he was being shaken now, they were carrying him up a large set of stairs. He could hear and slightly understand some of the cuss words used by their capturers, for they resembled a bit the Polish ones he used to hear from Feliks every time their dog would steal their _babka _from the table.

Finally, after being carried around like two princes, Alfred and Matthew suddenly sensed the missing hands that were holding them. They crashed onto the wooden floor like two eggs dropped "accidentally" from their carrier.

-You could've been gentler, you halfwits, hissed Matthew, much to his brother's immense surprise. The last time he had heard him insult someone was when the neighborhood bully decapitated Matthew's white teddy bear, when he was at the tender age of 3. And that was 21 years ago.

One of the men that carried them suddenly hit Matthew across the face with his clenched fist, and from the sound of it, he could've broken his jaw. Alfred reacted immediately. Even though he was deprived from using his arms and legs, he could still use his back as a support, couldn't he? With that and after concluding where that man was standing due to his loud obnoxious laugh, he targeted him with his feet and kicked with all his might. And from the sound the man made, he must've hit the bull's-eye.

-_**Vy glupyi syn… Idite k chertu!**_

-_Bros'te ih v podzemel'e! _

The brothers found out what that meant when they got thrown into the place's cold dungeon, still blindfolded and tied up.

-This is nuts! You guys are gonna get your asses here right this instant and set us free, you hear me? And I mean NOW! Get back, I say! yelled Alfred after them, scooting towards where he thought the bars were. Where he _thought _they were, for he hit his head against a rock-solid wall, nearly losing conscience. A chorus of laughs resonated everywhere, and the two brothers heard the heavy doors close with a deafening noise. Now they were in for it.

-So what do we do now, Alfred?

-First of all, help me get rid of these blindfolds. We'll have to do it with our teeth, Mattie. Where are you?

-I'm at your left, from where you're saying it.

-Good. Stay there, and when you won't have the blindfold anymore, do the same for me, okay? If I accidentally pull on your hair, I'm very sorry.

Alfred scooted to his left and, after locating Matthew's head and the knot of the blindfold; he grabbed onto the black cloth and pulled it. Now it was his brother's turn. In a matter of seconds, the two men screamed their hearts out.

On the dungeon wall, a few feet away from them, hanging on a chain around its neck from the ceiling, was a carcass, almost fleshless, with rats crawling everywhere on it, passing through its eye sockets and opened mouth.

-What is this? They're gonna eat us! squealed Matthew, using his joined feet to scoot backwards as far away as he possibly could from the hung corpse. He froze when he felt and heard something clatter behind him. His head slowly turned around. The world's most high-pitched scream resonated in the dungeon, deafening anything and anyone that was in that very room. Another corpse, this time with its eyes wide open and still possessing some skin, was a few inches from Matthew's horrified face. He was tearing at the moment, completely immobilized.

-Alfred, I don't like this place! he wept out, the skeletal figure looking at him as if it were laughing.

His blue-eyed brother was staring himself at the other corpse, shocked. Were they going to end like these two unfortunate people? Matthew managed to move back to Alfred and leaned his back on him.

-Alfred, what is going to become of us?

His brother didn't answer; for he, seriously, wasn't so sure himself.

When he woke up a few hours later, Alfred didn't have to shield his eyes from sunlight. There weren't _any_ windows or openings. But somehow, the room and the whole dungeon seemed to still be unexplainably lit up. His brother was lying on the ground, his head resting on a small bump of hay. The rest of the room was made of stone, and water was dripping from the ceiling onto the floor, creating a small puddle. At the corner, two rather fat rats were munching on their dead comrade, causing Alfred to feel very ill. He shivered at the idea that, while they were asleep, those rodents climbed onto them.

Alfred pulled himself up to a sitting position and looked around. The only way out was the door, which was blocked by thick bars. At the bottom of that gate, the bars created a small rectangular opening, big enough to slip food plates in and out for the prisoners, thus making it also impossible to squeeze through. Alfred sighed heavily in deep anger and disappointment. For once, he gave up without even trying. He turned his head as he heard his brother slowly wake up. Matthew opened his purple eyes and looked around, yawning.

-Where are we, Alfred?

-Same place, Mattie. Some dungeon in the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, they heard a loud grumble. But they calmed down when they realized it was only their stomachs.

-For how long haven't we eaten anything, Alfred?

-I dunno, a day or two, at least?

_Boing, boing, doing…_

-Heard that, Mattie?

-Of course I did. Sounds like… a small drum or something…

The noises got louder and louder, as if something was approaching their cell. Alfred scooted next to his brother, blue eyes filled with determination, ready to fight and protect Matthew and himself.

But immense confusion took over him when he saw a woman appear in front of the cell gate.

But it wasn't just any particular woman. She was a thin, well-built lady just in the middle of her twenties, had chin-length light blonde hair with a green headband and an X-shaped barrette across it, fair skin, beautiful sky blue eyes, and a sorry and crying look on her face and was wearing a blue and white long dress with puffed sleeves. But her most noticeable feature, which made the two brothers blush, was her humongous chest. They noticed that her dress had a few dozens of ripping stitches right at that spot, showing her dress would actually rip and she would have to sew it back, in vain.

She looked at them, holding a plate with food.

-Did you sleep well? she asked, with an accented voice which showed she was a sensitive creature.

-Yes, sort of, thank you for asking, right, Matthew? replied Alfred, glancing at his brother.

Matthew, much to Alfred's surprise, was frozen. Not only that, he was as red as a beet, his purple eyes gaping at the young woman outside the cell.

-Right, Mattie?

-Y-y-y-ye-yes…

Alfred suddenly noticed what the matter with his brother was, and smiled to himself slyly. He turned to the woman.

-Hello, I'm Alfred Frederick Williams Jones and this is my twin brother, Matthew. He's… rather shy, as you may see.

The woman glanced at the uneasy twin, and giggled lightly.

-I see! My name is _Yekaterina_, but you can call me _Katyusha_. I will be bringing you food until they decide to set you free.

-What do you mean by _they_? asked Alfred, deeply intrigued.

Katyusha suddenly looked very uneasy, took out a set of keys and opened the gate, entering the cell with the food, not saying anything.

-Here is your food, hope you enjoy it.

-But who did you mean?

She looked at him, and Alfred and Matthew nearly choked when they saw her eyes all blurry and tearing.

-I cannot say a word. Sorry. I'm so sorry! I wish I could tell you, but I am threatened in order not to do so!

And she began crying, wailing and shaking heartbreakingly, her hands covering her face. Alfred was already thinking of ways to cheer her up, but then he saw Matthew get on his knees (which was rather impossible, considering their ankles were tied up, but he managed to) and slowly approach her. His toes were curled up under his feet, and before anyone could say anything, he swung front and back until he, surprisingly, got on his two feet without breaking a sweat. Alfred gaped at him, mouth wide open. Now how did his brother do that?

Meanwhile, Matthew rather _hopped _towards Katyusha, whom was still crying her heart out, tears falling and mixing with the dirty soil of the cell. He finally stood in front of her.

-Who threatens you, Yekaterina?

When he pronounced her name, she gasped and looked up, her whole thin face stained with red from the streams of tears. For a moment, it seemed she was going to speak up, but she turned back.

-I just… cannot say anything. Again, I'm very sorry.

She was just about to leave when Alfred cleared his throat to get her attention.

-We really appreciate your food, but it is impossible for us to eat like this, you know?

Katyusha looked at them. Silly her, they were bonded with rope. After untying them with a sharp-looking kitchen knife, they sat down and began to eat. The food was simply delicious, and, secretly in his mind, Matthew was already knitting out plans on how to get Katyusha to marry him. When they finally finished, loud footsteps at the other end of the corridor echoed in the dark dungeon. It was a strong, robust man with a black beard and an eye patch on his right eye. He looked at the twins with his dark left eye.

-So, you two are the disgusting brats we had to travel all the way to England for?

-Well, look who is speaking, now, replied Matthew.

Katyusha turned pale. The man's face became eviler, angrier, and without a warning, his large hand slammed the purple-eyed man across the cheek, nearly sending him against the other wall five feet away.

-_Chikachev_! _Ostav'te yego v pokoe! __Ne byeite yego! _yelled Katyusha out, grabbing the tall man by his arm as if to stop him from doing any more harm. But he didn't even flinch. Instead, he waved that arm away from him, making Katyusha go flying and landing on Matthew back first, which, fortunately, broke her fall.

Before Alfred could punch that bastard straight in his big nose, three more men ran in, grabbing him by his arms, depriving him from any move. They shoved Katyusha to the side and did the same for Matthew, and they led them out of the cell, leaving a frightened and weeping girl inside.

They marched up some stairs, crossed several rooms until arriving before a large door. The man that beat both Matthew and Katyusha walked inside, then reappeared and ordered his men to bring the two captives inside.

The room was darker than the dungeon, without any visible décor. But you could feel tension everywhere in the air; it nearly suffocated Alfred. His heart briskly abruptly stopped when he heard the most dreaded voice he had ever heard.

-So, I finally get to see your little face, _Al'fred_.

That cold, monotonous, menacing, deadly and worth of a killer voice, coming from the end of the room, was no one else's but Ivan Braginski's.

**Notes: **

**DUNDUNDUN! We finally meet Alfred's worst foe! What will happen next, nobody will know… **

**Translations first:**

**-**_**Zatknis', huligan**_** (Russian) =Shut up, you hooligan**

-_**Parol'? **_**(Russian) =Password?**

-_**Vniz s Angliyei **_**(Russian) =Down with England**

-_**Vy glupyi syn… **__**Idite k chertu! **_**(Russian) =Sou sstupid son of a… Go to hell!**

-_**Bros'te ih v podzemel'e!**_**(Russian) =Throw them in the dungeon!**

-_**Chikachev**_**! **_**Ostav'te yego v pokoe! **__**Ne byeite yego! **_**(Russian) =Chikachev! Leave him alone! Don't hurt him! **

**The **_**babka **_**is a sweet yeast cake, mostly eaten in Eastern and Central Europe, such as Poland, Lithuania, Russia, Slovakia, Belarus, Ukraine and Northeastern Hungary. It is very, very good, one of my favorite desserts ^ ^ **

**Hope you liked this chapter, next one will appear in a few days… **


	14. Chapter 14: Revelations

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter XIV: Revelations

Alfred's hair stood up on his neck and back. Sheer terror was taking the best of him, as his legs started shaking, as well as the rest of his body. That voice, he could've recognized it anywhere, for it belonged to a man whom nearly killed both him and Matthew. Ivan Braginski. He was there, in that same room, probably sitting on his small throne he had made for himself, dressed in those light brown clothes and that eternal beige scarf around his neck. His dark purple eyes and pale blonde hair haunted Alfred's mind since he had thrown them to sea in a small boat, all beaten up and near death.

His brother was just as shocked and petrified. He didn't care about the blood that was slowly flowing from his nose due to the slap he received from _Chikachev_, one of the Russian guards.

Even though it was pitch black in there, Alfred heard the movement of someone tall standing up and walking down a small set of stairs to finally walk towards two horrified captives.

-Well, well, it looks like the two precious street urchins I used to know grew up… what a shame. It is less fun messing with someone when they're older, don't you think so, _Al'fred_?

Alfred wanted to sink into the floor at that very moment. The way his name was said, in the voice of a pure murderer, would just paralyze him completely to the point he could hardly breathe. A strong wave of heat invaded him on the inside, nevertheless making him feel as if he were sweating, which he actually was doing now.

He got forced back to Earth by a forceful tone.

-Are you even listening to me, you ungrateful brat?

He was going to answer back, but Ivan just made him freeze once more. It shocked him that he himself, Alfred Frederick Williams Jones, was being so intimidated. Normally, he'd always make his enemies tremble back on the _Lady of Atlantis_…

Ivan Braginski realized his "precious street urchin" wasn't exactly cooperative, so he walked calmly back to his seat. But at that moment, Alfred finally decided to speak up aggressively, trying to hold back his trembling voice.

-What on earth did you do to Arthur, you scum? **Where is he?**

Ivan looked at him, head resting on his open hand, and let out a long, demonic laugh that nearly made Alfred and Matthew weep.

-You have always amused me, _Al'fred_. _Artur _isn't here.

Those four words seemed to slam Alfred on his chest.

-You… you're lying! You killed him, didn't you? Speak up, already!

Ivan's frozen glare hit him deep inside his soul, and he silenced. Nevertheless, Alfred felt a furious fire burn in him.

-I am not a liar, _Al'fred_. _Artur _is not here.

-As if I'd buy that! "Not a liar", please! You already lied to me and my brother, and made our lives a living Hell! Don't you tell me that you're as pure as Holy water!

-When I say that your pathetic little friend isn't here, I mean it. And thank goodness for him, because otherwise he would be long dead, after the beating I would give him…

Ivan saw a tightly clenched fist inching closer at a fast pace towards his face, until it stopped. It was Alfred's, who just got caught by the four Russian men right before managing to hit Braginski. He got thrown to the floor and tied up, hands behind his back. Ivan looked a bit shocked, but calmed down as his guards forced Alfred back up, pushing him around.

-I see you grew close with that idiot. You do not know how much it crumbles my little heart to pieces…

He precised his words by clenching his hands on his chest, as if he were feeling intense pain.

-Pfff. You don't even _have_ a heart, Ivan, scoffed Alfred, with a sly smile at his lips, what the hell are we doing here, anyway? And how the hell did you know where we were?

Ivan's face immediately became eviler, and he indicated to his men to get out of the room, which they did after tying Matthew up. He then walked back and forth, hands behind his back.

-Before I tell you anything, know this. Arthur Kirkland's father, when I was a youngster, killed my father in a sword battle. After that pathetic oldie returned victorious to the Queen, me and the rest of the crew were taken prisoners and sent to one of the most hostile prisons in all of Russia, under the order of Tsar Ivan the Fourth. That stupid fool thought that his son, the current ruler of _Rossiya_, would follow his father's wish and keep me chained to the day I die. You see, Tsar _Feodor _has been very close to me ever since I was born, and he swore to me that he would free me. And so he did, replacing me with a boy he has had killed that looked strangely like me. All of Russia thinking I died, he released me, and I promised him that, one day, what he couldn't obtain, I would obtain it for him. And that thing he desired was your tea-sucking little island.

-You really are a bastard, you know…

-Sorry, I haven't finished yet, _Al'fred_. Where was I? Oh, yes. And so, after secretly equipping me with loyal men and a ship, he sent me to sea, with a mission: to conquer England. But I also had another plan: to avenge my father. He was a good man, not like what others thought of him… and to do that, I wanted to kill your stupid little fuzzy-browed friend. Before being taken prisoner, I swore to him upon my soul that I shall kill the person he loved the most with this very sword, just like his father John did: straight in the heart. Do you get what I mean?

Alfred frowned. Arthur never told him he had a girl on his mind… I mean, seriously, _him, _of all possible men?

-You sound like one of those bloodthirsty fools that just end up killing themselves. And what do we have to do in all of this?

Ivan smiled at him, making Alfred shiver. That smile didn't demonstrate anything good.

-You are rather impatient, my friend. I had no intention of making you participate in this plan. You two just swooped in without warning.

-We swooped in? What the hell do you mean by that?

-You see, I sent a few of my acolytes to follow Kirkland, after he decided to form his own crew.

Alfred's utterly confused face paled. There were spies in their midst on the _Lady of Atlantis_?

-You're lying like a rug, Ivan, muttered out Matthew, finally capable of speaking after calming down.

-That is what you think. And guess who was with you since the day you mysteriously arrived?

The brothers looked at each other, not understanding anything. Was it Yao? Peter?

-Carlson and Sanders, they said in unison.

-I see you're not as stupid as I thought you were.

Alfred and Matthew nearly fell backwards. Their two good friends, Brendon Carlson and Jack Sanders, were spies? _Russian spies?_

_-_Wait one darn minute, Ivan; if they're not English, then what are their real names?

Braginski looked at Alfred with an amused glare.

-No one you know or heard of.

-Fine. But we still have no stupid clue what do you want from us.

-That's the simplest thing I will ever answer: you simply served as two small objects to catch _Artur_'s attention.

Alfred's eyes narrowed.

-I don't quite get you there, Vanny…

-Oh, come now, _Al'fred_, don't tell me you hadn't noticed how much that idiot got attached to you and your brother? I just wanted to play with his narrow mind, that's all. Plus, now that I have both of you, thanks to my little friend, killing that fuzzy-brow will be easier than ever.

-Your little friend? You don't mean… Terence?

-Of course he means me, you faggot.

Alfred turned his head to where the voice came from. And, walking out of the shadows, was Terence Kirkland, with a look as evil as Ivan's.

-Terry… you do know you're betraying England?

-England, schmingland, chap! As long as that woman of yours will be queen, there's no way I'll fight on the English side. And I mean _no way_.

-But… but Terry! Your brother is going to get killed!

-My brother? So what? He was a little wretch the second he was born. And I could never care less if he'd be dead, sonny. In fact, Alfie, I'd actually feel _de~lighted_!

-But… but… you lost your mind, Terry? You're _deliberately _cooperating with a murderer!

-Enough, you two, cut in Ivan, growing impatient over their conversation, Terence, thank you for showing up, now leave them to me, _da_?

-_Da, da_, replied a vexed Irish, walking out of the room and closing the door after him. Ivan, satisfied, turned to the two brothers.

-Well then, now that you know just about everything you are _allowed _to know, I guess I have no choice but to execute the next stage of my plan. _Chikachev_!

The robust guard immediately showed up, with a grin worthy of a devil.

-Yes, chief?

Alfred noticed a quick understanding glare between the two Russian men.

-You know what to do, don't you, _Chikachev_?

-_Da_.

-W-What are you planning, Ivan? risked Matthew, whom sensed that something far from good was on its way.

-You see, my dear little _Matvei_, I only need your brother for the rest of my plan. You, you're only a useless and risky little thing to keep. I know you, and you're not as dumb as you appear; if you ever escape, it would be the end for me. Therefore, I have no other choice than to end your pathetic little life miserably. You already know too much.

-Over my dead body, Ivan!

But Alfred didn't have a chance to protect his brother from the humongous brute that got hold of the shivering Matthew, dragging him out through the door in such a careless way the frightened purple-eyed man was being shook like a useless rag doll.

-Come on, Mattie, fight back! For God's sake, beat him or something! MATTIE!

The heavy doors shut loudly behind them.

**Notes:**

**Sorry for the late update, I'll try to make it up… **

**So we finally see Ivan… DUNDUNDUN! **

**And Terry? A traitor? **

***yawns* I miss the action… this chapter, to me, just seems plain and dull. (T o T)**

**Well then, chapter 15 is on its way! **


	15. Chapter 15: Agony of Life

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter XV: Agony of Life

Alfred Frederick Jones was looking with ultimate despair at the closed doors that just foreshadowed his dear brother's fate. Matthew was going to get killed and knowing Ivan Braginski, he is _far_ from dying in peace.

-What are you going to do to him, Ivan?

His voice bore the highest tone of sadness, and so did his watery sky blue eyes. The Russian man did nothing but smirk.

-Even a hero like you couldn't stand knowing what, my dear _Al'fred_. I will only say that his way of death will make even the bravest shiver. But since you asked… what do you think? Should I force him to swallow ten pieces of burning coal at once? Should I chain him to the pit of a dried well and fill it up with boiling water while he's desperately trying to break free in order to breathe? Grill him inside a metal oven with no possible air conducts… no, I would be abusing the use of heat to kill him… Or what about I simply rip out every single one of his nails one by one? I think the second and third and fourth options are the best, don't you think so, _Al'fred_?

-YOU'RE SICK! You are not going to do anything to Matthew, you hear me? _NOTHING! _

-… or maybe it would be better to simply throw him down a pit of starved rabid rats?

-SHUT UP!

Alfred was crying so hard he had to gasp for air. A puddle of tears appeared at his knees as Ivan watched on victoriously.

-They're all horrible, _da_? You know, _Al'fred_, all of that pain could be spared.

Alfred's head tilted up in a flash. He looked with hope at Ivan, not believing his ears.

-R-Really, Vanny? Oh my goodness, you're not such a bad guy after all… How, tell me, how?

-If you really want your brother to live, I demand only one favor.

-What is it, Ivan? I'll do anything, just name it, he replied, with the most assured tone.

The Russian got up, walked slowly and majestically towards the Englishman and looked down into his blue eyes.

-Where is _Artur_?

Alfred gulped his suddenly gathered saliva. Ivan's pathetic little plan lit up in his head like a thousand bonfires. He wanted to know Arthur's location in exchange for Matthew's life. The bastard…

-In case one of your spies hasn't told you, we got separated after he accidentally blew up the ship I was on. Because of that, I have absolutely no clue where the hell he is. Why not ask Carlson and Sanders? _They_ should know.

Ivan's hysterical laugh scared cripes out of him, and he discreetly scooted away from him.

-Come now, dear, I know you know. And you know what happens when someone lies to me?

Oh boy did Alfred know what happened to all the liars on Ivan's ship when he was working aboard it. They'd have their spines twisted back and forth until their bones would be completely dislocated, that's what.

-Ivan, _I don't know where Art is_. Don't you have any other people to do the dirty work for you?

-Take some wise advice, my friend: do not test a Russian's patience. It may just be the cause of your lifelong misery.

-I'm serious, Ivan! I'm as clueless as you are!

Alfred was becoming more and more desperate. He really didn't know where Kirkland was, but I mean _really didn't know_. However, if he would say where he was, Matthew's life would be spared… while on the other hand Arthur's would end horrifyingly.

Ivan looked at him for some time, silently, and finally replied so carelessly it was scary.

-I guess I have no choice than to do everything I said to your pathetic, stupid brother. But I won't be done, oh no, Ivan Braginski always gets the last word of everything. After him, it will be you, unless you change your narrow mind.

-I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS, YOU BASTARD! WHAT PART OF THAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? OR ARE YOU JUST DEAF?

But Ivan backed up, and called one of his servants. The short, stout man with black hair and a sharp-looking sword at his belt walked over and Braginski whispered something in his ear, to what the servant exited the room, grinning like an idiot with rotten, yellow teeth. Alfred's head fell onto his chest as tears reappeared.

-You're such a disgusting scum… nothing but a mangy, heartless scum… that guy's going over to torture Mattie to death, ain't he?

Ivan grinned like the Devil himself.

-Actually, _Al'fred_, I'll give him up to dawn to live, so he has about ten hours left. Then, he shall suffer the pain of his life. Listening to a victim's agonizing screams is a grand pleasure, _da_?

Alfred didn't answer. He just wanted to be with his brother with Arthur, back on the _Lady of Atlantis_, all alive and well. He wanted to get up and break the bastard's jaw or heck, kill him. That desire took the best of him, as the despair of not being able to do so submerged him, a helpless and useless idiot. An helpless, useless idiot in love with a pirate-privateer, to be precise. Stuck between the Devil and the deep blue sea. That's what Feliks and Toris would've used to describe this. If Alfred would choose any of the two options, someone would die, without a doubt.

What he nor Ivan didn't know was that a suddenly rebellious silhouette crept in the shadows behind one of the room's columns supporting the ceiling listened to the whole conversation with sheer horror. The eavesdropper quietly walked back carefully, and out of the room through another door.

Silent, in vainly held back cries echoed in the dungeon, as a certain purple-eyed Englishman with short frizzed at the tips hair was drowning in a sea of deep desperation. Matthew, after receiving an earful from the Russian guards about what they were going to do to him, had already cried out almost all of the tears his body contained. His short life would soon end in a way he had never expected. He was, despite his gentle look, a very ambitious young man; his goal was to become a skilled medicine man, get his brother hitched (although he began to doubt it would be a normal marriage), have a beautiful wife, add some healthy children to that, live a peaceful life on land in the countryside, savoring every single bit of life, have grandchildren, maybe even great grandchildren and finally pass away peacefully with his wife and family at his side just before he would inhale his last breath.

Yes, that was his dream ever since he could think and speak. Of course, he doubted he would ever get married, so unattractive he thought he was. But who knows; maybe his soul mate would show up some day…

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He mentally shoved away all of those ambitions and visions he had in his mind like someone energetically sweeping dirt with a broom until the floor was squeaky clean. He would never become a medicine man. He would never get his brother married. He would never have a beautiful wife. He would never have any children or any descendants. He would never live in the countryside. And he would certainly not die peacefully.

He grabbed himself by his hair, leaning forward, still sitting on the cold cell floor, his head between his knees. What a life he's had… Oh well, who ever cared, except for his brother Alfred and the members of the crew? No one. Absolutely nobody.

_Blessed Mother of our dear Savior, how did I get into this huge mess? I whom thought I was going to live normally on a ship and then live the life I've always wanted… This is all nuts, it's killing my mind… There! Now I'm starting to hear noises! Great job, Matthew Williams Jones, great job! You stupid naive idiot, how could you possibly believe your life would make any sense! But wait just one darn minute… I really am hearing something!.. Nah, must be my poor mind that's slowly losing its sanity… _

But Matthew _did_ and _was_ hearing something. It sounded like little bouncing noises, followed by very quiet, light footsteps… and then, despite the darkness, he saw those two blue eyes reflected in his. He nearly gasped of surprise, but managed to swallow the gasp down in fear the guards would hear him.

-K-Katyusha! (He lowered his voice) How in Heavens did you get past the guards? And what are you doing here?

The young woman begged him to lower his voice more, as she slowly took out the same set of keys she used to open the cell before.

-As you may know, I am the cook around here. After I overheard my brother ordering your execution… I just couldn't bare it. He had already killed so many of his prisoners… And I had to hear their cries of pain and agony, begging for my brother's mercy, in vain. Believe me, I tried freeing them as discreetly as I could, but _Vanya_ was always hot on my heels and… and…

She burst into tears, burying her face in her hands, still holding the keys. A puzzled Matthew tried to calm her down through the bars.

-Katyusha, please stop crying! If they catch you, we'll _both_ get killed!

But she just wouldn't stop, and poor Matthew's panic was rising by the second.

-I simply can't! My brother, whom I loved with all my soul, simply became a heartless maniac!

-I won't say anything hurtful about your brother; but please tell me, how did you slip past the guards?

Katyusha sniffed, uncovering her flushed face. With her eyes shining like stars in the middle of a desert sky, Matthew almost felt… weak in the knees.

-As I was saying, I am the cook, and after your brother's interrogatory, I rushed to the kitchen to prepare the guards some food. I took good care to slip in some good old alcohol in there; that seemed to knock them out, as you may hear.

Indeed, Matthew noticed at that moment loud snores, and he glanced at Katyusha, slightly disturbed. Was that kind, innocent woman really evil, since she got the guards drunk? Katyusha seemed satisfied of his look, a shy, sweet smile illuminating her well defined face. Matthew felt the inside of his stomach flutter.

-And so, after checking and seeing that they're fast asleep, I simply walked right past them.

-A-Alright… but why are you _helping_ me?

She looked at him with certain sadness, but didn't answer. She found the key she was looking for, inserted it into the keyhole, turned it to the right and victoriously swung the cell door open when she heard a quick "scklung!". Matthew walked out of the cell, a bit hesitantly, as if he were a little bird set free by a big puffy kitty about to eat him up once he'd be far away from the safety of its prison's bars. Fortunately for him, Yekaterina Braginski wasn't that type of a trickster, at least, not with Matthew. For her, he and his brother Alfred were the two kindest prisoners ever captured by Ivan's men. Despite pitying the ones that got killed, the others would always mock her due to her "additional upper weight". Some even tried to, how to say this, _harm_ her, if you know what I mean. Poor Katyusha would always walk with a knife and some powdered black pepper after that misfortunate incident, even though the horny prisoner didn't manage to do what he intended to. Just in case.

But back to the story.

And so, Matthew was free. Free. FREE!

-Oh my goodness, thank you so much Katyusha, I really don't know what I would've done! But tell me, why are you helping me escape?

The girl glanced up at him.

-Тому що люблю тебе. (_Tomo shcho lyublyu tebe_)

Matthew's eyes narrowed into a confused glare.

-W-What was that?

-Nothing.

The two walked slowly and as quietly as it was possible towards the staircase that led outside of the dungeon. It was rather hard, because first of all: Matthew thought he was going to die asphyxiated so much he was holding his breath of fear that it would be heard by the guards and two… Katyusha was slightly weeping, as terrified as the man she had set free. What if _Vanya_ had seen her, and was waiting at the exit to slay both of them with one of his blood-stained swords? What if the guards only pretended to be asleep?

Matthew, meanwhile, had other questions in his mind. Why did Katyusha help him escape from his cell? What was it that she said in her language? How were they going to escape without getting spotted or heard? What was he going to do after escaping (if he would manage to)? What was going to become of his brother and Arthur? _This is giving me a headache… _

They finally arrived at the top of the stony stairs, their hearts about to jump and tear out of their chests. Katyusha leaned towards the door, checking if the guards were asleep. Matthew guessed they had to, for she turned to him and nodded her head. Her hand pressed gently against the heavy door, and it opened slowly. Seconds turned into hours. When the gap was big enough for them to slip through one by one, Katyusha stepped out first, followed by Matthew. Outside, the two guards guarding the entrance to the dungeon were as drunk as hell, sleeping tightly on the hard floor, their legs spread out. Matthew's often hidden darker side suggested to send a good, powerful and satisfying blow in between, but he reconsidered. If he'd wake them up, both he and Yekaterina would be as good as dead. He hadn't noticed that Katyusha was holding him firmly by the hand until now.

-_Stoi_!

Matthew Williams' world crumbled down to bits. In a matter of minutes, he would be flying all the way to Heaven, his whole body massacred to a pulp.

But his breath instantly came back when he realized it was only the guard talking in his sleep. His mind just turned into a buzzing church of gratefulness towards God. He heard Katyusha sigh in deep relief, and he felt her grip loosen. _Great Lord, she's fainting!_

Panicky, he slipped her arm around his neck and, supporting her by the waist, he steadily walked away, the feeble woman unconscious. Surprisingly for him, she wasn't as _heavy_ as he thought she'd be. In fact, she was almost as light as a feather.

-Only a few hours until you'll be able to see in the first row seats the worst tortures inflicted on your brother. For me, it will be a joy!

Ivan Braginski, terrifying enough to scare the Pope, was jubilating at the idea.

-Oh well, that'll teach you and him to escape from me. If you would've stayed, you would've been living a normal life away from that English tea-sucking idiot!

-If we would've stayed with such a drunkard, such an arcehole like you, we would've lost all of our mental sanity, mumbled Alfred under his breath.

He froze.

Ivan had heard him.

The Russian man turned to him, slowly, a huge grin on his face, and his purple eyes wide open like two empty holes behind his pale blonde hair.

-What did you say, _Al'fred_?

Alfred didn't dare answer. He knew what Ivan's voice tone meant: you were in deep dung. Instead, he just sat there on the cold, mirror-like uncomforting floor, looking somewhere beyond Ivan. He had done it.

He noticed how Ivan took something from behind his back, something shining in the light, weak sunrays that shyly entered the room from nowhere. Then, an even greater unbraked fear went over Alfred like a burning wave. The famous metal staff. _The_ famous metal staff used by Ivan to beat the living out of his unfortunate victims. Yes, that was it. Alfred could clearly see it whole; the deep red stains… the blood of all the people that got killed by Ivan Braginski. It was there, in his hands. And his old patron wouldn't hesitate using it on him.

Ivan approached him, tapping the tip of the staff in his palm of the opposite hand.

-You ungrateful, mindless, stupid wretch. I saved you from death and hunger. I gave you shelter. I gave you a warm, cozy home aboard my ship, along with eatable food. Of course, I admit I was a bit harsh on you and Matthew, but it was in a fatherly way, you get me?

-Fatherly? MY ASS! WE PREFERRED DYING IN THE STREETS, OUR BODIES ROTTING IN THE SUN WITH RATS CRAWLING ALL OVER THAN STAYING WITH YOU! And we didn't run away! You SHIPPED US away! This is pathetic! Now you're saying you'll teach us a lesson! Well, if Art would hear such a…

Boy did he wish he could've let that last part in. He simply put more wood in the already blazing fire.

-Repeat that, _Al'fred_, I'm not sure I heard well.

-You heard me! If only Arthur were to hear such a thing, he'd slap you lifeless!

Alfred felt something cold, harsh and solid hit his jawbone, nearly cracking it. The next thing he knew, Alfred was lying down, his cheek pressed against the floor, and a foul taste in his mouth. He opened it, and red liquid spilled out.

-That is what you get, _Al'fred_. But I am not done, I can swear on the Tsar's head.

And what followed would have caused Arthur to lose his mind, desiring to kill Ivan in every possible painful way. Even summoning the devil would've sounded wonderful to him.

When Ivan was finally done with his "punishment", he looked satisfyingly around him. His previously white walls now had numerous red stains, as well as his precious metal staff. He took no interest in the near-death man at his feet, lying on his side in a puddle of blood, still tied up, bleeding everywhere. As long as his hate towards Arthur was gone, Ivan Braginski was merrier than a beggar that had just robbed a bread shop to the very last crumb.

-You… You're mad… a mad bastard…

Faint words flew roughly out of Alfred's mouth. Considering his condition, he wouldn't live on for much longer, unless if someone would have the kindness to nurse him back to health. He laughed interiorly at this. Who, of all the murderers in this place, would have done that?

-Amusing, isn't it? That is what I am going to do to that caterpillar-browed brat. And I'll force you to watch it, whether you like it or not.

-That won't happen.

It was Ivan's turn to freeze. Not of fear; of reborn rage.

-Whatever do you mean, dear? I'll get that fool, and after he gets a taste of my staff, I'll do as I promised; I'll pierce his heart with my sword, and this while he's still breathing.

-I said it _won't_ happen. 'Cause there's no way you'll hurt him. _No. Way._

Alfred didn't wince when pain struck all over his body. He didn't wince either when he saw the Russian raise his stained staff, prepared to beat him all over again.

-Why you…

-_Kapitan! Kapitan! Zaklyuchennyi__, __on bezhal! _

Alfred saw Ivan's face turn crimson.

- _Togda poimat' yego_!

His yell echoed in the room, deafening Alfred. But he knew what Ivan had said, for it was similar to him in Polish. Ivan ordered his men to catch Matthew.

**Notes:**

**Awful sorry for the late update! Been very busy lately! As in tradition, translations first:**

**-**_**Тому**____**що**____**люблю**___**т**_**ебе**___**(Ukrainian) = Because I love you**

**-**_**Stoi! **_**(Russian) =Halt!**

**-**_**Kapitan! Kapitan! **__**Zaklyuchennyi**__**, **__**on bezhal!**_** (Russian) =Captain! Captain! The prisoner, he escaped! **

**I apologize to all of you America fans for the painful things I made Ivan make Alfred suffer… IMPORTANT: Due to Easter, the next chapter will probably be released in a week or so, maybe in the next few days, I don't know. **

**Hope you enjoyed! And sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger! **


	16. Chapter 16: White Stained With Red

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter XVI: White Stained With Red

_Matthew… He… he escaped?.. _

Alfred couldn't help but start tearing of joy. His brother managed to escape! Great Heavens!

-Go get'em, Mattie!

Matthew couldn't hear his brother cheering somewhere in the huge palace, castle or whatever they were in. He could hardly hear himself think. And he was having the fright of his life at that moment.

Katyusha was still unconscious, and, in order to escape from the alerted guards, he had to pick her up in his arms, her head resting on his chest. Matthew was slightly weakened from his living conditions he has been through lately, and couldn't carry her well as he normally would if he weren't tired.

He ran in a long, almost endless labyrinth of corridors, the noise of his shoes clacking against the floor and the yells of barbarian Russian guards accompanying him anywhere he ran. Large beads of sweat pearled down his forehead and temples, making him feel uneasy. He wanted to wipe them off, but just couldn't. Matthew glanced down at Katyusha's pale sleepy face. If only she would awake soon, she could tell him how to get out of there…

-I beg you, Katyusha! Katyusha! Wake up, please! Katyusha!

No use. The guard's sleep talk yell must have caused her a real shock. Matthew stopped suddenly, in order to adjust his grip on the young woman by swinging her lightly into the air. After running for so long, she was slowly slipping from his hands.

-See, Ivan? Mattie escaped. And once he gets to the nearest town, you'll have your ass kicked squeaky clean.

Despite his deep wounds, Alfred was rejoicing, speaking to Ivan in the most satisfied tone he ever did. Ivan had his back turned to him, as if deep in thoughts. Alfred was certain Ivan was panicking; sweating his skin off. That's right. That'll teach him to mess with the William Jones'. Most if all, that'll teach him to mess with Arthur Kirkland.

-You know what, _Al'fred_?

-What, Vanny?

Ivan's head tilted slowly towards him. Alfred nearly shrieked. His head turned, sure, almost as if Ivan had his whole body turned to him, but it _wasn't_. It was as if someone cut his head support and was spinning it, with Ivan's back also facing Alfred. Like an owl.

-Once I get my hands on your brother, he shall undergo the tortures I reserve for my hardest prisoners. And you will join in, too. Both of you. You will wish you were born senseless it will hurt so much. You will scream so loud you will deafen yourselves. So loud all the saints in heaven will have their dusty bones trembling. No one will help you. And once I will be done, I will fetch go Arthur. Boy will he be happy to see you again, _da_? Especially if you will be cut into little bits of rotting flesh.

He snapped his fingers, allowing the noise to echo across the room. And out of the shadows, like a demon, appeared a large, massive beast, its snout opened widely, a waterfall of saliva emerging from it and mixing itself with the blood splattered across the floor.

Alfred gathered up all of the courage still embedded within him, to no use. The mastiff approached him, growling. As the growl got louder, Alfred had the impression the thing would leap on him and shred him to bits.

Numerous flashbacks came back to his mind. The times when Ivan's hybrid dogs were close to killing both Alfred and Matthew on Ivan's ship if they would miss a spot when polishing the crew's boots.

-_Al'fred_, meet _Boris_. You know what happens when you mix all unstable hunting breeds? This obedient killing machine happens.

As if to approve of his words, _Boris_ barked. "Roared" might've been a better word.

Everything lit up in Alfred's head again, surprisingly. It seemed his injuries didn't affect his thinking or mind at all. It's only the rest of his body that was aching.

-Vanny, don't tell me you're going to… just don't, I beg you…

-Oh, you better believe it, _malchik_! _Idi, Boris! _

The canine beast leaped towards the large door and, to Alfred's horror, swung it wide open with its large front paws as if it were made of playing cards.

_I suggest you run for dear life, brother! _

Matthew couldn't take it any longer. He had been running for so long he felt he was going to collapse and pass out. He needed to find the exit, and fast. Once he'd be outside, he could hide and wake Katyusha. Then, he'd go and alert the Queen of Ivan Braginski and his plan of attacking England. For once, he felt like a hero.

Despite having spirit-rising thoughts, it didn't make his fatigue go away. For a moment, he considered leaving Katyusha somewhere on a chair or something and run for his life. But then he thwarted his plan. If the guards knew she made the two others drunk in order to help him escape, she would die. Die in ways NO woman should ever die in. Plus, it would be pretty ungrateful of him; she risked her life just to set him free, and he would leave her behind in the filthy bloodstained hands of her brother Ivan Braginski? No, sirree. Not Matthew Williams Jones.

He arrived at the top of a flight of stairs. Looking rapidly down, he saw a large door which seemed to be unlocked. If that was the exit, he was one lucky chap.

It was truly a miracle if he hadn't fallen whilst running down the stairs with Katyusha in his arms. Of course, the weight of the woman would make him bend forwards, which forced him to flex himself the other way in order not to collapse along with Yekaterina. At the bottom of the stairs, he placed the young woman on her feet, still letting her lean on him, and opened the door. The evening breeze swiftly swayed past his face. Freedom.

Finally.

He picked Katyusha back up and started to run through the place's labyrinth-like gardens, which, from his view, led to a certain forest. If only he'd get there, they would hide, wait until the madman's men would give up searching and there! Get to England as fast as they could. He smiled to himself, his hidden leader side slowly emerging.

_Boris_' nose detected a different smell than the ones he already knew. To his minimal confusion, it was paired up with the one of that crybaby woman that fed him everyday and got tormented by his master and some other people that he had to decapitate sometimes under his master's straightforward command.

The bloodthirsty dog accelerated, the scent showing him the way. He had the order to kill. And he was going to do it, no matter the price.

Ivan looked down at Alfred, whom was still bleeding, but less than before.

-I see your brother decided to play with his luck, _da_? But believe me, he'll be lucky if he won't get dragged all the way to Hell. _Da_, dragged to Hell… that must be rather amusing… for the person doing so, that is.

He then marched to the end of the room and pulled a rope, thus spreading two long curtains apart, revealing a wide window. Rays of sun just hovering above the horizon entered the room, chasing the darkness away. Alfred noticed that from that opening, you had the view on the forests surrounding the castle, fortress or whatever they were kept in. Ivan roamed towards the center of the window and, with a swift movement of his arms, opened it, and wind blew into the room, somewhat soothing Alfred.

-Oh, _Al'fred_, your idiot of a brother is right down there past my gardens. Let me show him to you.

Before Alfred could react, the madman grabbed him by the collar and nearly shoved him through the window, and thank goodness he didn't, for falling over 180 feet wasn't something Alfred was fond of doing at the moment. But to his surprise, he saw a little red point mixed with blue in the distance past Ivan's garden heading towards the forest.

-Mattie! Run, brother! Run like you never ran before!

Matthew heard his name being yelled out, and turned his head. There, he saw a window with Ivan and Alfred. His face illuminated with joy and fear at the same time. He was about to stop, but that's when he realized something wasn't right. Matthew could see, despite his slightly bad sight, Ivan's face. It was bored, neutral, and pale, his purple eyes appeared to be shooting him with blazing arrows and he was holding something in his right hand.

-Matthew, watch out!

Too late. Matthew's foot got caught in a tree root and down he went, flipping on his back before crashing to the ground, sparing Katyusha a lot of pain.

-_M-Matthew_?.. What happened?

It was Yekaterina. Matthew sighed of relief. Surely the woman knew the surrounding areas of the fortress (as he noted), so getting to a nearby village wasn't going to be a problem.

-You're awake, great. I just fell, and it seems your brother has spotted us.

Katyusha's head tilted behind her in horror, and the murdering grave purple eyes met hers.

-_O, Bozhe…_ what now?

-Well, first of all…

In a second, he was back on his feet with a surprised Katyusha in his arms.

-…**WE RUN!**

And he sped off, the branches of the first trees of the vast forest covering his head. But that's when the duo heard a long, ear-scorching growl.

-_Boris_, murmured Katyusha in sheer terror.

Matthew reared his head back and a wave of old spine-tingling memories burst in his mind. That dog (or beast, or no, better, _demon_) was enormous! Even bigger than the ones that Ivan used to command to nearly rip Alfred's and his own skins off! Matthew felt fear. Fear so intense his heart was now beating like mad. A wave of heat traveled all throughout his body, for he knew his slightly skinny legs were snails compared to the _thing's_ thick muscular paws.

As he ran through the small narrow path between the thick trees, Katyusha was looking over Matthew's shoulder, fearing her brother's new _experiment_ would bolt on them and shred them to bits. Her blue eyes looked into the beast's, and her fears were confirmed. It would. Oh dear it would.

-Matthew, I suggest you…

She didn't finish. In a matter of seconds they tumbled to the ground, Matthew's left foot stuck under a root curving out from the earth. Yekaterina didn't feel his grip anymore, and realized that after she fell a few feet away from the young man. She pushed herself up enough to sit…

…and see an enormous pack of claws and muscle…

…lunge on Matthew…

-_**MET'YU**__!_

Her reaction was almost instinctive. Just like every time some perverted prisoner would try to do something. With the only exception that… this time, she wouldn't use the powdered black pepper.

Her hand slipped into her apron pocket, and felt the handle of the knife she always kept with her. With that, she leaped towards Matthew's attacked body. She raised her hand, her eyes locked on the beast, and lowered it in a heartbeat.

Matthew thought that his neck bone was going to be snapped like a twig. He remembered him falling, smashing his head on the mucky ground, causing it to turn sideways. And that's when he saw that monstrum, its snout opened to its largest extent, all its fangs revealed, land on his back. And, a split second after, he felt those fangs grab his head and tear his skin, jerking him in every direction like a rag doll, blood staining the dog's face and Matthew's homely clothes. He didn't feel like yelling. Despite the pain, the scars that healed from the past just reopened, and this time, there was no one to stop it. Was Katyusha conscious from the fall? He didn't know. Even if it weren't so, how could she save him from a dog this massive?

That's when it all stopped. Matthew felt the dog immobilize itself, take deeper breaths, until it released a deafening howl before collapsing next to the stunned man. Matthew felt the ground shake a bit. Silence. _Is this a miracle?.. Am I really alive? Am I in front of the Heavenly Gates? Oh, all saints, thank y…_

-M-Matthew?

The man's eyes jerked themselves open.

That shy, sensitive, loving, _and interesting_ woman _killed_ it? _Yekaterina _killed _Boris_?

-How did… how… did… you…

Katyusha looked at him, and Matthew thought she was going to start wailing and crying in hysterics. Surprisingly, she only shed four or five tears, all while kneeling next to him, trying to get him up.

-So… t-tell me… is there a nearby village anywhere?

Katyusha didn't answer. All she did was rip a piece of her apron, and tie it around Matthew's head, thus stopping somewhat the flow of blood from the injury.

The young man looked scarily at her.

-Is there or…

-Yes. There is. A few miles away from here. Once we shall get there, I'll find you a proper medicine man.

Her voice had such a sad, on-the-edge-of-dying tone that Matthew's heart just about shattered. He was just too dumbstruck, too touched to even say "Thank you" aloud.

Ivan Braginski let out a satisfied scoff. His dog did the job, no doubt about it. Still holding the shocked blue-eyed man by the collar of his shirt, his head got thrown back by a loud, obnoxious and triumphant laugh.

-See, _Al'fred_? That's what happens to idiots like your brother (and my pathetic sister) when they try to outsmart me! There is no way England is ever going to predict the calamity with which it shall be hit!

His murderous glee echoed throughout the fortress. Alfred's eyes watered.

Okay. I AM SERIOUSLY LOSING MY TOUCH IN WRITING. LIKE SERIOUSLY. EVEN A SNAIL COULD DO BETTER.

I am truly sorry for the long delay, it was much longer than I thought. I sincerely apologize and I hope to finish this fanfic this summer. It's really fun writing it, it really is, just I feel like some of you whom added this just hate me for this… three-month long pause. Please forgive me.

**Translations:**

**-**_**Malchik = Russian, means "Boy"**_

_**-Idi = Russian, means "Go"**_

_**-O, Bozhe = Ukrainian, means "Oh, God"**_

**NOTE: **

**I will be away for two weeks; nevertheless I'll try to keep writing from there. Hope you liked this chapter. (Which I'm sure you didn't)**


	17. Chapter 17: Announced Apocalypse

**Cross the Seven Seas for You**

Chapter XVII: Announced Apocalypse

Arthur sighed deeply, his elbows on the port of the _Lady of Atlantis_ as he gazed far into the brightening horizon. His ship had been navigating from India to the deepest end of the wide ocean ever since he fired a cannonball towards the ship which had both Alfred and Matthew on board. He just realized it too late. Far too late. He saw those blue eyes he (_very_ _secretly_) longed for, that panicked face, that cheerful, bright yet sometimes foolish young man he had lost three long years ago. Just in time to see him get embraced by Death itself in the form of the ocean. To see him disappear in the depths of it, and the water getting covered with remains from the Spanish ship, blocking access to the surface.

Of course, even if it was past his several-week old mourning and despair, which he had spent by drinking rum at the end of the day with only three slices of bread a day, he'd still feel uneasy if anyone would mention a name that started with an A and ended with a D.

To his crew, they were, of course, also pained, but the captain's depressive mood was sometimes playing a slight melody on their nerves. I mean, the guys are dead, what would crying day and night for them change? Nothing. Tears couldn't, can't and never will bring back a corpse, yet alone two.

-You alright, captain?

Arthur slowly (almost sluggishly) looked to his left. It was Jack Sanders. He fluttered his eyes in miscomprehension.

-Hmm? What did you say, Tim? I didn't hear you quite well…

Tim? Was the captain going insane?

-Umm, it's _Jack_, captain… and I asked if you are feeling alright.

-Oh, yes, Jack! Forgive me for that… it slipped off from my mind. Well, as usual, you?

-Me? I'm fine, really! Oh, and by the way, Yao made some carrot stew, in case you wou…

-No thank you, I am not sure it would be good for my stomach…

_He really is going insane! He'd be long gone below deck and the first to finish half of the food!_

-Well then, feel free to join us when you'll change your mind!

Saying that, Jack turned around, only to disappear below the deck and find Brendon Carlson.

-He's completely lost it, _Dmitriy_. _Completely_.

Dmitriy, or Brendon, had another concern on his mind.

-Look, _Ilia_, they're both dead, and unless you will tell me how we'll face him, I couldn't care less about that English idiot.

Ilia (or Jack) silenced for a minute.

-Well, it's not our fault now, is it? Kirk's the one who ordered to blow up that Spaniard's ship, not us! He doesn't have any reason to blame us!

-That is not the point! Our duty, our _life's mission_ was to lead Kirkland to the boss with the help of these two hooligans, also to bring them back for good so he can kill them with his bare hands! Now they're sleeping with the fish, that depressed fool doesn't have any intention to go anywhere near England and we haven't heard from boss in months! The whole plan is in jeopardy, and he'll blame us! No, wait, he'll _massacre_ us, he'll call the devil himself to drag us down to Hell!

Dmitriy hushed his tone brusquely, for these three last sentences were said in a most unwanted loud manner. After making sure no one was around, Ilya replied:

-Listen, _Dmitriy_, I must agree on that, so why not simply escape, find someplace calm and quiet and poof! disappear from the surface from this world? Better than facing him, isn't it?

-Indeed, _Ilya_. So, when do we do that?

-Well, when no one's a'looking, of course!

And the two men burst out laughing, descending the stairs to the kitchen.

Ivan was having the most enjoyable months of his life. He and his men were finishing up preparations for "the big day, _da_", concocting sinister plans for England, but most of all his excitement was fueled by the thought of that dumbstruck fuzzy-browed idiot getting punctured in the heart by his gorgeous Russian sword. Right after slashing _that special someone _in the chest. Oh yes, Ivan had the most righteous idea of whom it was. Of course, he really didn't want to do that, but what? One of them was dead (what happened to _Boris_, anyway?), meaning there was only one left. What a shame. He could've kept him as his anger-soothing pet, he was so good at it. Too bad; he had to accomplish his sworn upon revenge, didn't he?

_Three more days_, he thought, _three more days…and _do svidaniya_, _Artur…

Arthur was now all alone again, leaning on the port of his beloved ship. It was a rather misty day on the ocean, the sun was hidden atop of the gathered clouds and he waters were calm, rocking the ship in a calming, yet somehow depressive manner. The young captain felt a bit better, nevertheless… _ALFRED! ALFRED! _

He buried his head in his arms, one hand tearing desperately on his blonde (yet slightly paler) hair, his entire body shaken by the newly provoked sobs and rivery tears. He felt like someone from afar was laughing, mocking him, sending constant memories of that day where his world got turned upside down. How could he have known? Still, it was his fault… charging at an enemy ship in awful bad weather as the one back then was the most foolish thing to do.

_If only I knew… but no, I didn't. I couldn't. Years of precise and intense search, until that one encounter… And all it took was one bloody cannonball… if only he knew how much… how much I… why can't I bloody say it, damn it! _

_-_**If only he knew how much I loved him!**

A gunshot.

Arthur raised his head in a hurry. Up ahead, not that far from the _Lady of Atlantis_, was another ship. Panicked, captain Kirkland looked up the other ship's mast… oh good Lord, thank you! It was an English one! His gaze went down, and he saw panicking English men on board. One of them, whom looked like the captain, seemed so alarmed he was waving his arms despite his (old) age.

-Kirkland! Kirkland! We finally found you!

Arthur slowly remembered that wrinkled face… yes, that was his father's childhood friend and superior, Michael Potter.

-Michael! I haven't seen you in years!, Arthur sounded out in a forced cheerful tone, trying to hide his flushed face, why on earth are you waving like that?

The English ship was now at a distance that Arthur could hear what was happening on it, without even having to be quiet. Michael's eyes were popping with fear, angst, and so did Arthur's after he heard those five hard to swallow words:

-Arthur, England is under attack!

Arthur's worst nightmare is becoming reality *DUN DUN DUUUUN!*

But… what will he do when he finds out… about that?..

_**Translations:**_

_**-Dmitriy **_**and **_**Ilia **_**=Russian, Russian for "Dimitri" and "Elijah"**

_**-do svidaniya =**_** Russian, means "Goodbye"**

Okay, I'm kinda more proud of this chapter than my previous, and I thank all of you whom (despite its ugliness) carried on reading! Thank you so much!~

Now, time for some _real_ action!


End file.
